


writing to reach you

by chocolateghost



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apparently this is now a coronavirus fic lol, Based on Jack Finney's 1959 short story "The Love Letter", F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Letters, Mutual Pining, Pen Pals, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolateghost/pseuds/chocolateghost
Summary: When he was younger, Jon used to believe in magic. He used to believe in the power of love, fate, destiny, and soulmates. But then he grew up and, like so many others, stopped believing. Now years later, and unhappy with the direction of his life, Jon buys an antique desk intending to follow his dream of becoming a writer. Little does he know that an old love letter hidden inside one of the desk drawers will make him start believing in magic again.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 416
Kudos: 254
Collections: JonsaValentine2020





	1. February 14

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreams_for_spring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreams_for_spring/gifts).



> Gifting to Katharine for being an awesome person, a great friend, and a talented writer. The Jonsa fam is so lucky to have you! ❤️❤️❤️

> _The night is a strange time; things are different at night, as every human being knows somewhere deep inside him... But here and there, still, are little islands — isolated remnants of the way things once were. And I think that at night — late at night, the world asleep, when the sounds of things as they are now are nearly silent, and the sight of things as they are now is vague in the darkness — the boundary between here and then wavers. At certain moments and places it fades._
> 
> _I_ _think that there in the dimness of the old Wister post office, in the dead of night, lifting my letter... toward the old brass door of the letter drop — I think that I stood on one side of that slot in the year 1959, and that I dropped my letter... into the Brooklyn of 1882 on the other side of that worn old slot. I believe that — I'm not even interested in proving it — but I believe it._
> 
> _“The Love Letter” - Jack Finney_

When he was younger, Jon used to believe in magic. He used to believe in the power of love and fate and destiny. He used to believe that his soulmate was out there somewhere, waiting for him to find her.

But then he grew up.

And after enduring countless heartbreaks, he found he no longer believed in magic. He no longer believed in fate or destiny. He no longer believed that there was that special someone out there waiting for him. He nearly stopped believing in love.

But then he met the girl he had thought might be _The One_. For three years, they stayed together. Jon had loved her, or at least, he thought he’d loved her. But as time went on, it became clear they weren’t meant to be. They each wanted different things out of life. And finally, after all that time, they cut ties, and Jon drifted back to his familiar lonely path.

“I am a work in progress,” he told himself. It became his mantra as he started over, taking his life back one step at a time. He moved into a new apartment, and months passed by as he settled into his life. But he found it didn’t feel the same as it used to. He was tired of his job. Tired of his cynical outlook on life. He wanted to believe in things again. He wanted to accomplish something. He’d gone through four years of university to get a degree in something he didn’t want to do and then worked for four more years in a job he didn’t like. It was finally time to do something for himself for a change.

When he was a kid, Jon had often daydreamed entire stories filled with knights and princesses and dragons. He’d excelled at creative writing in high school - even enjoyed it. But as so often happens, life moves on, and things get left by the wayside. So now, a year on from the breakup, Jon decided it was finally time to follow his dream of being a writer. 

That’s how he found himself at Second Chance Antiques on a Friday evening with his best friend searching for the perfect writing desk. Sure, he could have just gone to Ikea like a normal person, but Jon didn’t want some cheap particle board desk that would start falling apart the minute it was put together. No, he wanted something sturdy. Something strong. Something that had stood the test of time. Something that he could write a thousand books on.

And then he found it. Or rather, Sam found it.

“JON! This one right here! This is it!”

Jon left the desks he was looking at and raced over to see what had caught his friend’s eye.

"Really? This one? Are you sure?"

Jon had brought Sam along for two reasons: 1) as a self-proclaimed scholar, Sam knew his way around a suitable desk, and 2) Jon needed someone to help him carry it up the stairs to his new flat. Jon trusted his judgment above anyone else.

“Oh, absolutely! Just look at it! It has so much classic charm and elegance!”

Sam ran his hands over it lovingly, seemingly marveling over the craftsmanship. Jon, on the other hand, only saw an old wooden desk. Despite being on the smaller side, it boasted a surprising seven drawers; three on each side and one over the kneehole. It certainly had more than enough surface area to stretch out and work. And it would definitely fit in his tiny apartment. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad little desk after all.

Jon flagged down a nearby sales associate. “Excuse me, ma’am? Can you tell me about this desk here?”

“Oh yes, you have a good eye,” the woman said, coming up to them with a smile. “Solid weirwood, I believe.”

“Weirwood?” Sam squeaked, eyes filled with wonder. “Really?”

“Yes. An unusual building material for a piece this large, but not totally unheard of. And this one is in great condition too. Very minimal wear and tear. You know the old manor on Meadowlake Street?”

“YES!” Sam squealed, and Jon nodded along, being very familiar with the old house himself. As a kid he used to walk by it every day on the way to school. Back then, the place had sparked his imagination and filled him with a sense of wonder. All the way to and from school, he’d daydreamed about what it would be like to live there. Although last Jon had heard the place had been abandoned some years ago. 

The woman continued. “Well, when the former occupant passed on, we purchased several items from the estate sale, and this desk just so happens to be one of them. I’m actually surprised this one hasn’t sold yet. It’s such a wonderful piece, and I’m sure it would serve you well for many years to come. Not to mention for what we’re asking, we’re practically giving this away!”

“Oh, I’ll say,” Sam agreed. “So what do you think, Jon? Is this the one?”

Jon leaned down and took a good hard look at the desk. It really did look great for its age, however old that might be. Other than a few chips and knicks here and there, it appeared to be practically pristine. And as a plus, it came from the one house in town he’d always loved. If Jon believed in fate, he would have thought the desk was meant for him.

“I’ll take it.”

Sam clapped his hands together. “Wonderful, because if you didn’t buy it, I would have. And then Gilly would have killed me.”

After a bit of haggling, Jon paid for the desk, and he and Sam packed it into the bed of Jon’s beat up pick up truck. They drove back to Jon’s apartment building and lugged it up three flights of stairs to his flat. After a bit of rearranging to find the perfect spot, the two men stood back to admire it. 

“Did I tell you this desk was the one, or did I tell you this desk was The One?”

“You definitely told me, alright,” Jon agreed. “Hey, thanks for coming and helping me today, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Always happy to help.”

“So I was thinking of ordering a pizza in celebration of my new desk and first official day as an aspiring writer. Care to join me?”

Sam’s smile dropped slightly. “I’d love to, really, but I need to get home to the family. Gilly’s making her special meatloaf. And it is Valentine’s Day, after all.”

“Shit, that’s right.” Jon had completely forgotten what day it was. One of the trappings of being unequivocally single. “Sorry for taking up so much of your time. I wasn’t even thinking, man.”

“Oh no, It’s fine, Jon. It’s still early. And after five years of marriage and a baby, the romance dies down a little,” Sam chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck. “Hey, would you want to join us tonight instead? Honestly, I really don’t think Gilly will mind.”

While he appreciated the invite, encroaching on a family Valentine’s dinner was just about the last thing Jon wanted to do. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just keep to my pizza tonight. How about a rain check? Next week maybe?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll hold you to it!”

Jon drove Sam home, picking up a dozen roses, a box of chocolates, and a balloon for Gilly and Little Sam on the way. On his way back to his flat, he grabbed a pizza and a six-pack of beer. Jon was feeling good about things for the first time in a long time. Back home, Jon settled on the couch with his meal, a terrible romantic comedy playing on his TV. 

“To you, weirwood desk,” he toasted, raising his can of beer, “may we share a lifetime of memories together.”

Jon ate in silence, relishing the greasy food and the crappy movie. Every so often, though, his eyes would drift over to where the desk sat against the wall. It looked good there. Like it belonged. Jon could almost see himself sitting there sometime very soon, working into the night on a future manuscript. He liked that thought. Made it seem all the more real. He was actually going to do this. He was going to follow his dreams.

“I am a work in progress,” he reminded himself, tearing off a large chunk of pizza.

Jon relaxed further into the couch, attempting to concentrate on the movie. But without fail, his attention would always wind up settling back on the desk. It was almost like it was calling out to him. Taking a swig of beer to wash down the remainder of his pizza, Jon stood and padded to the desk. 

“Note to self: buy an actual desk chair,” he said aloud as he borrowed one of the old wobbly chairs from his barely held together kitchen table to sit down. Jon made sure to wipe his hands on his sweatpants before touching the wood, not wanting any grease to ruin it. The finish was satin-smooth. Running his hands along it, he couldn’t help but wonder who else had sat behind this desk. What could they have been like?

“I’m gonna take good care of you,” he told the desk, well aware that he sounded insane talking to an inanimate object.

Painstakingly, Jon peeled away the tape that had kept the drawers shut during transport. Grabbing some furniture polish and a rag, he took his time buffing the old wood to a beautiful sheen, making sure to rid it of any trace of stickiness. It wasn’t until after he finished his cleaning that Jon realized he’d never even opened the drawers before he bought the desk. Deciding to rectify his mistake, he quickly pulled open the first drawer over the kneehole.

Much to his surprise, it was not empty like he assumed. Which was strange because Jon couldn’t remember hearing any rattling in the desk when he and Sam had moved it. One by one, he took each item out and laid them on the desktop. When he finished, he counted over a dozen sheets of crisp yellowed paper, half a dozen vintage stamps and envelopes, and an old fountain pen. 

Blindly feeling around inside the drawer to make sure there was nothing else, Jon’s fingers grazed what felt like paper at the back. He tried to slide it out, but it remained stuck in its place. Angling his head to peer inside, he saw it was wedged in the space between the bottom and back of the drawer. Reaching in once more, Jon pinched the edge between his fingers and tugged hard until the elusive object finally came free. It was another envelope, but unlike the empty ones on the desk, this one was thick and weighty and sealed shut. Flipping it over to the front revealed the words _To_ _My One True Love_ written in elegant cursive.

Jon stared at the letter in his hand for a beat, unsure of what to do with it. He wanted to open it, but for some reason, he hesitated. Perhaps it was the words on the front giving him pause. Whatever was inside the envelope was clearly not meant for him. If he read it, he would be intruding on someone’s extremely personal thoughts. And yet, he was dying of curiosity. Rationalizing that the desk and all its contents now belonged to him, he decided to just go ahead and read it.

Carefully, Jon broke the seal. The paper inside was sharply creased with age, and he gingerly unfolded it, lest he accidentally tear it. In the upper right-hand corner, the letter was dated February 14, 1946. Holding his breath, Jon began reading.

> _My Dearest,_
> 
> _Today is Valentine’s Day. Everyone I know seems to be so happy and in love. Yet here I am up late writing to you because I don’t know what else to do. I’m so afraid. Isn’t that funny? A girl so in love with the idea of love that she’s completely and utterly terrified of it. I suppose this is what happens when you desperately want something your entire life. You wish for it. You pray for it. And then finally it happens, and you should be over the moon, but it’s nothing like you imagined. Have you ever felt that?_
> 
> _Is it so terrible of me to not want to marry him? For years Mother and Father promised I would marry someone brave, gentle, and strong. For years I’ve been waiting for him to come and find me. Now he’s here, and I just have this feeling in my gut that this is all wrong. He’s not the man I was promised. He's not the one I want._
> 
> _How can I possibly be expected to walk down the aisle and marry him in front of my family, friends, and God Almighty if I don’t truly love him? Mother always says that love is built stone by stone. I should listen to her, I know I should, but why does it feel like the two of us could never build love together? I barely know him at all and yet, what I do know I loathe. He seems cruel and selfish. He doesn’t understand me. I’m not even sure he really even likes me. I fear the only reason he wants to marry me is for my father's money. That and the fact that he’s getting older and hasn’t found anyone else. I suppose I’m in the same boat as him in that regard. I know I should just do my duty and marry him and be a good wife. It's what everyone wants me to do. And even though just thinking of it breaks my heart, I’m almost positive that’s exactly what will happen. But just for this one moment, I want to tell you what I really want to do._
> 
> _I want to dance with you barefoot in grass all misty wet with from a fresh spring rain. I want to twirl around and around until we both fall down laughing. I want to build a snowman with you in the winter and kiss you breathless with snowflakes in our eyelashes. I want to run away with you somewhere warm. Somewhere we could sink our toes in the sand and let the ocean waves lick our ankles. We could lie out in the sun all day until our bodies bake and we’re forced to cool down under the shade of a palm tree. I want to go to the city - any ctiy - and look up at all the tall buildings. And then at night we can pretend that all the lights are stars. We can make up new constellations, and you can tease me about the names I pick. I want to hug you so tight you can’t breathe. I want you to tell me you love me. I want to be your girl. I want to be your wife. I want to be the one you wake up to in the morning. I want to be the one you share your smile with. I want to have a family with you. I want to grow old and grey and sit on our front porch and hold hands while we watch our grandchildren play in the yard. I want that and so much more. I just want to be yours._
> 
> _Why can’t I be yours?_
> 
> _Where are you? Are you even out there? Or are you only make believe? How I wish I could meet you. How I wish you would come find me. We could be a real gas together, I just know it. I would wait a lifetime for you. Just please come and rescue me. I’ll dream of you every night until then._
> 
> _Forever yours,_
> 
> _Sansa Stark_

Jon finished reading, and all the air left his lungs in a shaky breath. Unable to stop himself, he read the letter twice more before dropping it to the desk, an overwhelming sensation of sadness washing over him. It was like reading a page ripped from his own heart. How many times had Jon contemplated so much of what this young woman was feeling? The crushing ache of failed expectations. The frustration over being in the wrong relationship. The desperate longing for passion, romance, and real love.

“Sansa Stark,” he said softly. Her name rolled off his tongue so casually , it was like he’d said it a million times before. It was pretty. Feminine. Delicate. He wondered what she looked like. Jon checked the date on the letter again. 1946. Sansa had sat at this very desk and written this letter precisely 74 years ago. Perhaps even around the exact time he was sitting at it now. He could almost imagine her there wearing old-fashioned dress with her hair in victory curls hunched over writing furiously into the night. 74 years was an entire lifetime ago. Jon wondered how old she would been when she'd written this. Probably late teens or early 20s. Not too far off from himself. If she was still living today, she’d be an old woman. 

“I hope everything worked out for you, Sansa,” he wished to a ghost, taking care to fold the paper and place it back in the envelope. Although Jon wasn’t so foolish as to honestly believe it. Most likely, Sansa had gone on to marry this unwanted man. His heart broke, imagining her trapped in a loveless marriage when she wanted so much more out of life.

“God, what am I supposed to do with this?” He asked himself, unable to set the letter down. Jon had heard stories of people finding old love letters and seeking out their original owners, but this felt different. This letter wasn’t intended for anyone in particular, it was a wish for a dream lover. A glorified diary entry spilling out a heartbroken girl’s innermost fears and desires. If Sansa were still alive, would this letter really be something she’d want to be reminded of? She'd probably hidden it for a reason. Just something to write and get off her chest. She probably stuck it inside the drawer and completely forgot about it. 

Jon sighed, finally dropping the letter. He stood and quickly distanced himself from the desk. Feeling like a nice long shower would help clear his mind, he stripped himself down and hopped in. But the hot water did nothing to burn away his thoughts. After he toweled off, Jon once again found himself sitting at the desk reading Sansa’s letter. How was it possible to feel such a connection with someone he’d never met? Someone who had lived a lifetime ago? 

“I wish I could talk to her,” he whispered. “Just to tell her that she’s not alone. Tell her that there’s someone else out there who feels the way she does.”

Seeing the old paper and pen on the desktop, Jon decided that while he couldn’t actually talk to her, he could put his thoughts down on paper just like she had. It could be a writing exercise. Practice for his future endeavors. And maybe, just maybe, it would even ease his mind a bit. Taking a sheet of yellowed paper, Jon scratched the old fountain pen on it a few times. Not expecting anything, he was surprised to find the ink flowed smoothly from the nib.

“What are the chances?”

Shaking his head, Jon began responding to Sansa’s letter.

> _Sansa,_
> 
> _I found your letter in the desk drawer. I’ve already lost count of how many times I’ve read it. I can’t stop thinking about it. So I had to write back to you. I know you’ll never read this, but I just want you to know that you’re not alone. While I may not understand how it feels to be engaged to a man you don’t love, I can definitely empathize with that. It pains me to read your thoughts and feelings and know there’s nothing I can do to help._
> 
> _You’re not wrong to want love, Sansa. I want it too. I’ve wanted it for a long time. I want something exactly like you described. Your words painted such a clear picture in my mind. It kills me to think you probably never got that passionate heart-stopping love you always wanted. I’m still holding out for myself. But with every failed relationship I have, my hope wanes. Faith can only do so much. I want so badly to find that special someone, but much like yourself, I fear that I’ll never find her._
> 
> _And I feel so stupid saying that. I mean, here you are literally being chained to someone you don’t love. Meanwhile I’m a single man in my mid-20s with the world at my fingertips. No one is forcing me to do anything. There’s no expiration date for love and romance. But sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. Sometimes it feels like I missed my chance. Like if I’d only done something different, I would have been happy and in love by now. And that makes me sad because what if I really did mess it all up? What if I never find her? What if I’m unlovable?_
> 
> _I think that’s it. That’s my greatest fear. I think I’ve been searching for this all-consuming love and acceptance my entire life. And sure, I have the best mom in the world, and my friends are amazing, and I’m happy about that. Really, I am. But that’s not the same as having an equal partner to share your life with. And I think that’s what I crave the most. This idea that there’s someone out there that is my other half. That will be with me through anything and everything. That’s what I want. To share my life with somebody who loves me for who I am. I think that's what you want too._
> 
> _Wow, this kind of got away from me, didn’t it? I didn’t plan on writing all of that. But I’m glad I did. It feels good to put my thoughts and feelings into words. I wonder if that’s how you felt too? I hope you got everything you wanted in life. I wish I could have known you, Sansa. I bet we could have been great friends. I can promise you I won’t be forgetting about you anytime soon._
> 
> _Happy Valentine’s Day._
> 
> _Jon Snow_

Finished, he set the pen down and read over his words. By the end, he felt so much lighter and completely exhausted.

“If this is how it’s going to feel every time I finish writing something, I should probably rethink my life.”

Quickly cleaning up the mess from his dinner, Jon switched off the TV, brushed his teeth, and decided to go to bed. He'd had quite the day and he had assumed sleep would quickly take him. He was wrong. For hours Jon tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable and unable to stop his mind from running a marathon. Sansa wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered into the dark, sitting up. Jon turned his phone over, the bright screen blinding him. It was nearly 2 am. He stood and padded to the kitchen to get a glass of water, thinking maybe that might help. But even in the dark, his eyes traveled to the desk. On autopilot, his feet brought him there, and he once again sat down in the wobbly chair. 

As if guided by an invisible force, one of his hands reached out for his letter, and another hand reached out to one of the empty envelopes.

“What the hell am I doing?” Jon asked incredulously. “There’s no way. I can’t mail this. I don’t even have her… address…”

But he did. Jon knew the address to the old manor by heart. He could see it clearly painted on the letterbox in his mind’s eye.

“I must be out of my goddamned mind.”

Carefully, Jon folded his letter and slipped it into an envelope, licking the old adhesive to seal it shut. He nearly gagged at the foul tang on his tongue.

“I swear if I die because of this shit… You better appreciate this, Sansa.”

Pen in hand, he copied her name and address down from memory. Taking a stamp from the sheet, he licked it and stuck it in the corner of the envelope, wasting no time to chug from his glass of water to wash away the bad taste.

With a heavy sigh, Jon stood and pulled on his coat and boots. There was an old post office in town that was only a few blocks away from his apartment building. He could make it there and back in practically no time. Then he could finally be done with this whole thing. After tying his wool scarf around his neck and grabbing the letter, he left the warmth of his flat for the cold of the early morning.

Jon wasn’t necessarily a night owl, but he did always enjoy the calm of night when the city was sleeping. It was peaceful. And the falling snow around him added to the feeling. It blanketed the streets, soothing the usual hustle and bustle of downtown living, and gave the inky sky a soft glow. Jon trudged on, encountering no other living person his entire journey. It was like he was the last man on earth. 

The downtown Wintertown post office was one of those buildings that had seemingly been around forever. It stood high and mighty, with its carved stone facade and massive pillars and columns keeping it standing strong. Inside though, the look was utterly art-deco, with its high ceiling, geometric patterns, and marble floors. It had a musty smell that reeked of old money and elegance. Stepping inside was like stepping into a bygone era. And maybe that was precisely what Jon needed for this venture.

Tugging open the heavy brass door to get out of the cold, Jon shook the snow off his coat. His wet boots squeaked on the slick floor, echoing loudly off the walls. He cringed at the sound, pleased that there was no one else there to hear. Slowly he stepped up to the ancient mail slot in the center of the room and, pulling back the creaky old brass door, slid his letter inside. It disappeared without a sound. Gently, Jon closed the door, turned on his heel, and left the building. His mind juggled the knowledge that the ordeal was finally over with the fact that the ending had felt so incredibly anti-climactic. By the time he got back to his flat he was completely drained. He collapsed into bed and immediately fell sleep.

A week went by, and the letter never left Jon’s mind. It was in everything he did. He did his best to distract himself from it with work and friends. He ate dinner at Sam and Gilly’s twice that week, just so he wouldn’t be at home staring at the desk or rereading Sansa’s letter. He did it often now. Once in the morning. Twice at night. Sometimes more depending on his mood. He brought it with him wherever he went. It became a comfort to him. 

The entire week Jon was on edge. He kept waiting for something to happen, though he had no idea what. Every day he checked his mail, expecting to see his letter sent back to him. But he had left his return address off the envelope for that very reason. He didn’t want it back. It was out there in the universe now. And maybe, by some stroke of divine providence, it would find its way to Sansa or someone that knew her.

The following Friday evening, Jon was home alone, rereading Sansa’s letter for the umpteenth time when suddenly a thought occurred to him. He’d been so preoccupied after finding her letter last week that he’d once again neglected to open the rest of the desk drawers.

Tossing the paper on to the coffee table, Jon walked the now well-worn path to the desk. Sitting down at the brand new desk chair he’d purchased earlier in the week, he swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. His fingers curled around the knob of the top left drawer. He slid it open slowly only, hoping to find something - anything - that would help him. But there was nothing there. The drawer was empty. All the air left his lungs in a rush, and he clenched his jaw in frustration.

“Such a fucking idiot. Of course there's nothing there...”

Upset with himself for getting his hopes up, Jon slammed the drawer shut and sat back in the chair. Not a moment later, he just barely made out a light thud sound. Something had fallen over inside the desk. How was that possible? There was nothing there a moment ago.

Heart in his throat, Jon’s hand shook as he reached out to pull the top left drawer open for the second time. Now, staring back at him was a sealed yellowed envelope exactly like the first one. Not believing his eyes, he picked up it and turned it over. There on the front, written in Sansa's now-familiar handwriting, was Jon's own name.

“Holy fucking shit.”


	2. February 21

"This isn't happening. This isn't real. It's not-" Jon shook his head, completely unable to comprehend what he held in his hands. "It can't be. It's not possible. I'm dreaming. I must be. No, I have to be because there is no fucking way this is really happening right now."

Too many years living with a mindstate of logic and pragmatism had closed his eyes to otherworldly events like this. Surely something so extraordinary only happened in fiction. Fiction was a blank canvas. Anything and everything could happen in fiction. But reality was different. It had a rigid set of rules. And those rules didn't bend as far as Jon knew. But that didn't explain the letter in his hands that was addressed to him in Sansa's own handwriting.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and blinked rapidly, hoping the letter would disappear. It didn't. 

"Fuck!" He exclaimed, dropping the letter and running to the bathroom. He flipped on the faucet. Taking handfuls of cold water, Jon splashed his face in an attempt to wake himself up from this dream. Opening his eyes, he studied his reflection in the mirror. He counted the water droplets that ran down his face and collected in his beard. He watched them as they slowly worked their way down his whiskers until they dripped back into the sink. All the while, he took deep breaths in and out to calm himself.

"Pull it together, Snow," he said to himself, running a hand through his curls. "It's gonna be ok. Everything will be fine. I am a work in progress, remember? Fuck- What the fuck is wrong with me? The fuck does that have to do with anything right now? Jesus Christ, I'm fucking losing it..."

Shutting the water off, Jon closed his eyes and held one last giant breath in his lungs before leaving the room. Peeking around the corner, he spied the letter on the desk right where he'd left it. 

"God, this is real," he huffed, letting all his breath go in one rush. "This is fucking real. Holy shit. Ok. Fuck"

Finally, having come to grips with his new reality, Jon slowly dragged his feet to the desk and sat down. Swallowing thickly, he picked up the envelope and broke the seal. With trembling hands, he pulled out the creased paper inside. Bracing himself for whatever she might have written, Jon began reading.

> _February 21, 1946_
> 
> _Dear Jon Snow (IF THAT EVEN IS YOUR REAL NAME),_
> 
> _Just who in the world do you think you are? I have never met a Jon Snow ever in my life. And just how in the world could you have possibly found my letter? I thought I hid it so well that no one would ever see it. Did you break into my house and read it in the middle of the night? I swear I have half a mind to turn your name into the proper authorities, you creep! Or maybe you're not this Jon Snow person at all. Maybe you're one of my siblings playing a mean trick on me. I swear if this is actually Arya pretending to be someone else, I will find out, and I will tell Mother. You will regret this!_
> 
> _Although maybe you really are who you say you are. Maybe you really are this Jon Snow person. Maybe you are the man I can't stop thinking about. I have to admit I'm blushing as I write this. I've never been so forward in my life, but it's true all the same. I find myself thinking of you and your letter every hour of the day. The things you wrote… I can't even begin to explain what they mean to me._
> 
> _This is so very embarrassing, but I think I might have actually swooned. Just a smidge, mind you. Can you believe that? Reading it for the first time, I felt like I was Margaret Sullavan in The Shop Around The Corner. Did you ever see that picture? I must have seen it half a dozen times at the movie house, myself. Or maybe getting your letter in the mail was more like the beginning of a Hitchcock thriller. Think about it. A mysterious letter arriving from someone I don't know who somehow knows everything I'm feeling on the inside? I'd pay 50¢ to see that!_
> 
> _If you really are Jon Snow, how exactly did you find my letter? Do you honestly mean all of the beautiful things you wrote? I hope you do. It's so lovely having someone else that understands how I'm feeling. I'm just so afraid to tell anyone else. I don't want to disappoint anyone, but I suppose by not expressing my fears, I'm hurting myself in the process. I know I should be braver. Maybe you could give me some courage because right now I'm just a chicken._
> 
> _In your letter, you wrote that you "wish you could have known" me. What does that mean? Why can't you? Where are you? Can we not meet in person? Tell me about yourself! I want to know everything!_
> 
> _I'll tell you a little about myself if you want. I just turned 22 last month. During the week I do secretarial work at the First Bank of Wintertown. I took the job to help out during the war, and I guess I've just stayed at it because I'm not sure what else to do. It doesn't pay much, but it does give me a little extra spending money. I use it to buy bolts of fabric. I love sewing all kinds of things, but dresses are my favorite. Actually, I'm in the process of sewing a new dress now! Maybe when it's finished, I'll wear it out to the dance hall. Have you ever been to the dance hall before? Oh, it's one of my most favorite places. I just love to cut a rug. Do you dance, Jon?_
> 
> _What else? Oh, I have three brothers and one sister. By the grace of God, my older brother, Robb, came back from the war in one piece. We lost a cousin and an uncle in Japan and a couple good family friends in France. It breaks my heart to think of them now. Did you fight in the war, Jon? I'm sorry, was that too personal? I know some of the boys don't like to talk about it. I just want you to know that you can feel comfortable telling me anything. I hope you feel that way with me because, for some reason, I feel that way with you._
> 
> _I hope you find that love and acceptance you crave so much. They say that Love Conquers All, but does it really? I want it to be true so badly. I want true love to come find me and fill up this empty space in my heart. Maybe I've been foolish to think that everything would work out the way I dreamed. I know I don't live in a fairy tale. This is real life. No prince charming is going to come bust through the door and sweep me off my feet. Even so, I hope, and I pray that I haven't missed my chance at true love. A girl can dream, right?_
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Sansa Stark_
> 
> _P.S. - You didn't leave any return address, so I don't know how to get this to you! I hope somehow you can find it!_

Once he finished the first read-through, Jon immediately dove back in for a second go, his earlier trepidation nowhere to be found. He smiled fondly at her infectious sweetness and curiosity that poured off the page. He was quickly finding that she was one of those people that he just wanted to open up to. She had so many questions. And he wanted to answer them all. Not to mention, ask a few of his own. This was a strange feeling for Jon. Never before had he ever wanted to spill his guts to some person he'd just met. Let alone someone living more than 70 years in the past. 

So it was extremely foreign on multiple levels.

Jon opened the top drawer of the desk, intending to grab the writing supplies from where he'd stashed them when a thought occurred to him. The desk had seven drawers. He'd now opened two of them. Each drawer he'd opened had contained a letter from Sansa. Therefore, he could potentially reason that the rest of the drawers probably held an envelope as well. Although how there could possibly be multiple letters from Sansa waiting for him when he had currently only responded to her one time, Jon would never be able to wrap his brain around.

For a split-second, he was tempted to open another drawer just to test his hypothesis. But he quickly stopped himself. Perhaps letters were sitting inside the other five drawers right at that very second. But what if there weren't? What if, by opening the additional drawers now, he somehow ruined the opportunity for future correspondence? Jon reasoned that as long as he didn't open the drawers until the right time, he couldn't possibly mess this up.

Setting aside this Schrödinger-esque conundrum for a moment, Jon selected a fresh sheet of paper and uncapped the fountain pen. Without further hesitation, he began writing.

> _Sansa,_
> 
> _I promise you that this is really me, Jon Snow. This is not a joke. Trust me, I am having just as hard a time believing this as you are right now. And you don't even know the half of it! You see, I live in the year 2020. You read that right. 2020! I swear I'm not making this up, Sansa. Honestly. I bought what turned out to be your desk at an antique store last week. Wait, are antiques a thing in the 40s? Don't answer that, I'm just being weird._
> 
> _Anyway, last week I was just sitting at home looking through the desk and I happened to find your letter stuck in the back of the drawer. I read it, and I don't know why exactly, but I just felt such a strong connection to you and your words. I had to respond to it somehow. So I wrote my own letter and, for some bizarre reason, I decided to mail it to you without hope or expectations. I mean you wrote that first letter in the 40s, there was no way I would ever hear anything back. But apparently, I was wrong._
> 
> _Honestly, I'm kind of freaking out right now. This whole thing is just so absurd. I can't even begin to fathom why this is happening, but I'm almost positive that the desk has something to do with it. It's weirwood, isn't it? There's supposed to be something special about weirwood, right? Maybe something magical? I don't really know, but right now, I have no other explanation._
> 
> _I meant every word I wrote to you, so please don't be embarrassed, Sansa. Truth be told, I can't stop thinking about you either. Ever since I found your letter, you've pretty much been the only thing on my mind. I know it's only been a week, but I've read your letter so many times I practically know it by heart. And no, I've never actually seen The Shop Around The Corner. But I have heard of it. That's the one with Jimmy Stewart, right? They actually remade that movie in the 90s under the title You've Got Mail. It's decent, but I guess I'll have to watch the original now since you seem to love it so much. But yeah, I totally get you. This does kind of feel like something out of a movie, doesn't it?_
> 
> _I don't really know anything about sewing or dresses, but I bet you make the best ones around. And I've never been to the Wintertown dance hall before. Actually, I don't even know where it is or if it still exists anymore… But all the same, I don't really dance anyway. And no, I've never been to war before. I briefly considered enlisting in the military before I decided on going to university, but ultimately I didn't. I'm genuinely sorry for your losses, though. I can't even imagine what that must be like._
> 
> _You say you want to get to know me? Honestly, I'm not sure there's much to tell. Like I said before, I'm 26. Actually about to turn 27 next month. I got out of a long-term relationship last year. We were both just too different people. I don't regret the breakup, but it still just kind of feels like what if that was it, you know? What if that was my only real chance at love? And I know it never ever would have worked out in the end, but still. Makes me wonder. Anyway, so now I live alone in a small apartment downtown. It's not too bad. At least I can do what I want when I want, and I don't have to worry about having a roommate. I'm toying with the idea of possibly getting a dog. What do you think? Do you have any pets?_
> 
> _I have the most tedious office job. I hate it, but it pays the bills so I really shouldn't complain too much. Even though it is absolutely soul-sucking. What I really want to do though is be a writer. That's actually the reason I bought the desk in the first place. I wanted something small and sturdy that I could write stories on. I certainly never imagined any of this happening in the process!_
> 
> _When you say you feel comfortable with me, I have to admit I feel the same way. It's so weird to write that to someone I've never met, but it's still so true. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship! And speaking of, I think I might have figured out how all this works. Ok, so I found your first letter in the top drawer. And then, obviously, I don't know how you did it, but I found your second letter in the top left. This desk has seven drawers total, and I've only opened those two. I think that means that we have five more chances to communicate with each other. So I will continue to mail my letters the exact same way I did the first time. I suggest you do the same thing you did as well for me. Did you just place the next letter in the next drawer down? I think that would make the most sense._
> 
> _Hopefully, all of this continues to work smoothly, and we can keep talking to each other. I know I'll be chomping at the bit to check the next drawer on Friday. Talk to you soon, Sansa._
> 
> _Jon Snow_

Finished, he creased the paper and stuffed it into the envelope. Sacrificing his taste buds once again, he sealed it, stamped it, and carefully wrote Sansa's address on the front. Mailing it at the old post office worked last time, so that's exactly what he planned to do this time. After quickly bundling up, Jon set out into the cold.

Unlike last week's trek in the wee small hours, this Friday night was still relatively young and alive. Cars zoomed up and down the street, and people packed the sidewalk to make their way to bars or restaurants or shops. Artfully he dodged them all thanks to practice that only comes from being a solitary person.

In contrast to the busy nightlife outside, inside the post office was blissfully silent. Jon almost had to strain his ears to hear any of the hustle and bustle. Squeaking his way to the ancient mailslot, he wondered if Sansa had ever walked these same floors. Had she ever stood where he was standing now to mail a letter to someone special? 

Just like last week, Jon lifted the brass door and let the letter slide down the chute. He heard the metallic whoosh of gravity and then… nothing. No sound at all. It was as if the envelope had disappeared into thin air. Maybe it had. Maybe he put that letter into the slot in 2020, and it landed on the other side in 1946. A week ago, he would have scoffed at himself, but now he believed in whatever magic was happening here in the empty post office.

What a difference a week makes.

Satisfied, Jon walked back to his flat with a spring in his step. His feet led him toward the building, but he decided there was something else he wanted to do first. Climbing inside his truck, he put the key in the ignition to warm it up for his journey. Farther and farther, he drove until the din of the city melted into the calm of residential neighborhoods. Hanging a left on Christmas Tree Lane, Jon passed the old house he'd grown up in. After all these years, his mother still lived there. For a second, he briefly considered stopping in to say hi but decided against it at the last moment. He was on a mission, after all, to a place he could have driven with his eyes closed.

Meadowlake Street was peaceful at this hour. He parked his truck on the side opposite the old manor. Gazing around, Jon noted the surrounding homes that had their lights on. However, the old house he was here for remained dark as the night. Stepping outside the truck was almost like stepping back in time to his childhood. How many times had he walked this street and looked upon this place? Hundreds. Maybe thousands. And now here he was again so many years later doing the exact thing he used to do back then. 

Jon pulled his coat tighter around himself and crossed the street to get a closer look. He leaned on the front gate, his weight on it, forcing a rusty creak out of it. It seemed everything about the property was old and in disrepair. The once blindingly white picket fence was now dull and barely standing. The house itself, which was probably some kind of a play on Victorian-style architecture, was now a shell of its former glory. Broken windows. Missing shingles. Loose boards. Paint peeling. Graffiti. And if it wasn't for the snow blanketing the ground, Jon assumed the former pristinely-kept lawn would be tangled and overgrown as well.

"What a shame," he lamented to no one, unable to tell if it was the cold or his feelings that made his eyes water. When he'd been a kid, this place had been larger than life - a palace in the middle of Wintertown. Now it was just an old house that was probably _this_ close to being demolished.

Stepping back, Jon once again glanced at the nearby homes on the block. They seemed to all be in relatively good condition. Meadowlake Street was in a fancier part of town. Older, sure, but classic and revered for its impressive architecture. The fact that this particular home, quite possibly the crown jewel of the neighborhood, was currently crumbling to dust just didn't add up. What had happened here that led to this? Jon was determined to find out.

"Might be best to not tell Sansa about this," he reasoned, watching his breath and fade away into the frigid air. "There are some things she just doesn't need to know."

Soaking in one more eyeful of Stark Manor, Jon turned back toward his truck. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the week ahead. Friday couldn't come fast enough.


	3. February 28

The next week passed by slowly, almost like Jon was swimming through a river of honey. His days and nights ached along, thoughts consumed with Sansa and the desk. She was the first thing he thought about in the morning and the last thing he thought about at night. And even though he had no idea what she looked like, his dreams were filled with her presence. There was no escape. 

This constant distraction was making his work suffer. He found it difficult to concentrate on anything as his mind was stuck in 1946. Jon kept Sansa's letters with him at all times, stuffed into his messenger bag. He found himself pulling them out and reading whenever he was stressed, when he was taking a break, or just whenever he wanted to. It was an obsession. It was an addiction. He couldn't stop.

The real kicker, however, was that Jon didn't even need to keep the letters on his person. He'd read them so many times he had them memorized, carved her words onto the surface of his heart where he could keep them safe. The letters themselves had become more like totems, keeping him grounded when he needed it. And the best part was that, if everything went according to plan, there would be more arriving in the coming weeks.

Even with the letters taking over his life, his curiosity was still piqued for the mystery surrounding this situation. Over the week, Jon spent a few evenings at the library trying to track down anything he could find that might help him.

While there were several books on the subject of Wintertown, the information about Stark Manor itself was slim. From what he could glean, the manor was one of the oldest homes in town built not long after its founding by a man known as Brandon "The Builder" Stark. He'd been an instrumental figure in the early days of Wintertown, serving as its first mayor, among other distinctions. Jon discovered that the Stark name ran deep in the history of the town. Brandon and his family had lived at the manor for decades, and the house was passed down through the generations until Sansa's day, when it was occupied by Eddard Stark and his family. Some time after that the record became fuzzy. Something had happened there to end the Stark line, but what?

Jon reckoned that the internet would be a valuable tool, but he was also afraid of what he might find there. Especially if it had anything to do with Sansa. He didn't want to accidentally stumble upon an article about her life (or possible death) story. There were things better left unknown for now. Jon preferred to hear about her life from Sansa herself rather than a sanitized news report. So for the moment, the internet was strictly off-limits.

In addition to his research on Stark Manor, Jon also tried to find any information he could on weirwood trees. He checked out every book the library had on the old gods, the children of the forest, and the purported magic of past millennia. Hopefully, the answer to the secret of the desk would be within one of the books.

And if all else failed, Jon had an ace up his sleeve, his best friend and history professor, Samwell Tarly. So he gladly accepted the Tarlys Friday evening dinner invitation. He intended it to serve three purposes: 1) to gather more information on the Starks and weirwood; 2) to keep himself distracted so Jon wouldn't be tempted to open the next desk drawer before it was time; 3) because he needed to eat and a free meal was a free meal.

So there in the Tarly's dining room after settling into their meal, Jon decided it was time to spice up the conversation. 

"So Sam, what do you know about weirwood?"

Sam paused the swirled forkful of spaghetti that had been on its way to his mouth. "Lots. What do you want to know?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. Just like any interesting facts you can give me."

"Might this have anything to do with your fancy new weirwood desk?"

"Maybe," he said, trying to play coy.

"A-HA! See! Didn't I tell you? I knew you'd love it!"

"And how is it treating you, Jon?" Gilly asked, keeping her eye on the saucy mess Little Sam was currently making in his high chair. "Have you been doing any writing?"

"Uh, yeah… a little," Jon muttered. It wasn't exactly a total lie. Although it did make him feel guilty that he'd been so distracted, he hadn't even attempted to start using the desk for its intended purpose.

"You're doing it! You're actually doing it!" Sam gushed, eyes shining. "I'm so proud! Look at him, Gilly. Jon Snow, the writer. My heart is full."

Jon's face went white-hot, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. 

"Oh come off it, Sam, you're embarrassing him!"

"Well, I'm only speaking the truth! This has been a long time coming! I'm just so happy."

"It's nothing much. Honest," Jon tried to curb Sam's enthusiasm. "Just a few words here and there as I catch inspiration."

"Hey, progress is progress. Don't forget that," Gilly spoke in support. "The important thing is that you're following your dream here. You've set a goal, and you're actually doing it. You have every right to be proud of yourself, Jon."

"Thanks, guys," he said shyly, the guilt eating a hole in his gut. "So anyway, about the desk…"

"Oh, right," Sam nodded. "Ok, weirwood… Well, we don't exactly know how old they are, but some trees have been dated back thousands of years. Supposedly this ancient group of people known as the 'children of the forest' viewed the trees as sacred and carved faces into their trunks. Thus the weirwoods became a symbol of the old gods. For the record, it's important to remember that this all happened long before the Seven and the Christians."

Jon nodded along, endlessly twirling spaghetti around his fork.

"Now, according to legend, some of the 'children' had special powers known as greensight. They would use this to look through the faces of the trees and see through time. Supposedly through the present as well as into the past."

"So, they could manipulate time?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think manipulated is the right word. The way I've read, it is more like they just had visions. Like back in the day there used to be weirwoods all over the country, right? So theoretically, a greenseer could maybe be somewhere in the north using their powers to see what was happening through a tree down in the south at that very moment in time. Or, if they wanted, they could use weirwoods to view what the tree had witnessed at some point in the past. But again, this is all theoretical. Just based on old lore that's been passed down for generations. We don't really know if there were ever any actual 'children of the forest.' They might just be a myth.

"Yeah, but there are still weirwoods around that have faces on them," Gilly interjected.

"That's true. And we do have written records of the faces being there for centuries. So who knows? Isn't history fun?"

Jon chuckled at his friend. Sam was nothing if not a lovable nerd.

"Ok, so at the shop, the lady that sold me the desk said that weirwood was a rare building material, right?"

"That's right. You certainly don't see it very often. I think that, even though we've experienced several religious shifts as our culture has progressed, there's still some kind of attachment to the old gods in a way. And I think that there has definitely been a viewpoint that cutting down weirwoods is a bit sacrilegious to some extent. Not to mention, I believe some years ago the government placed weirwoods under a protective act because there were so few of them left. So while you do see something made of weirwood every now and then, it's certainly not an everyday occurrence. And usually, those pieces are ancient and extremely expensive."

"Sam said you got your desk cheap, though, right?" Gilly asked, taking a bite of her own pasta.

"Yeah, it was weird. Almost like they were trying to give it away…"

"Yes, it was odd, wasn't it? Well whatever the case, you own it now. And it's going to be the foundation from which your long and illustrious writing career begins!" Sam raised his glass high in the air, leaving Jon no choice but to return the gesture.

"Hey, didn't the lady also say the desk came from the old Stark place on Meadowlake?"

Sam cocked his head, brow furrowed. "Yeah, that's right! Wow, even more amazing!"

"What do you know about the Starks? I'm afraid I don't really know much."

Sam's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Have you been living under a rock your entire life, Jon? The Stark ARE Wintertown. This place wouldn't exist if it wasn't for them. They built the town from the ground up."

Jon leaned back in his chair, wondering how in the world he had missed all of this information.

"But what happened to them then? The manor's been empty for years."

"Now that, I don't know," Sam shrugged. "The woman said something about an estate sale, right? Maybe the Starks just finally reached the end of their family line? Maybe the last one died and that was that. It would be a real shame."

"Yeah," Jon sighed. "But why do you think no one's bought that house? Surely a place of such history wouldn't just be abandoned for no reason, right?"

"Beats me. I wish I knew the answer."

"Wow, have we finally reached the limit of Samwell Tarly's encyclopedic knowledge?" Gilly teased her husband.

"Hardly," Sam scoffed, snatching a piece of garlic bread from the table. "I'm a history professor, not a current events professor. Get with the program."

Gilly rolled her eyes. "So why all the sudden interest in this stuff, Jon? Just because of the desk?"

"Pretty much yeah," he responded with his mouth full. "Just something I've been thinking about is all."

"You know what you should do if you're so interested? Write a book about it!"

"YES, GILLY! A wonderful idea! You could totally write a book about the Starks and the town! I would read that in a heartbeat!"

Jon narrowed his eyes. "That's non-fiction, though. I don't really want to write about that. I'd much rather create my own original stuff."

"Hey, think about it," Gilly said. "You gotta start somewhere. Maybe it could be something to do when you're stuck on your original?"

"Yeah… Maybe you're right. I'll think about it."

The remainder of dinner passed with little fanfare, and Jon left the Tarly's with a Tupperware container of leftovers and a head full of questions. Once inside his flat, he stashed the Tupperware, grabbed a beer, and settled into his desk chair. With bated breath, Jon slowly pulled open the middle left drawer. Much to his relief, he was greeted to the sight of a yellow envelope with his name on it. 

"Oh, thank god," he breathed. Carefully, he plucked it from the drawer and opened it, pleased to find a nice fat letter for him to dive into.

> _ February 28, 1946 _
> 
> _ Dear Jon, _
> 
> _ I really hope this works. I did exactly what you told me. I put this letter in the next drawer down from the last one I used. I don't even know how or why I did that for the previous letter, but I'm so happy I did. I'm going to be devastated if this is a dud! Fingers crossed that it works! _
> 
> _ With that out of the way, I have to admit that after I read your last letter, I needed to step away for a moment. I was so confused and upset. I didn't understand. In fact, I'm not sure I know now either, but I suppose I'm here writing to you at the moment, so that must mean something, right? _
> 
> _ For a brief second there after my initial read, I really did once again believe that you were indeed Arya playing a mean trick on me. I was ready to toss your letters into the fire and never think about them again. Though after giving it a minute, I eased up. Not even Arya would be so cruel as to go through all the trouble of not only writing a beautiful letter, but then also mailing it. So I suppose that I really do believe you, Jon Snow. Please don't make me regret it. _
> 
> _ I am still trying to wrap my head around all of this, though. You actually live in the future? The year 2020? How is that even possible? How are you able to communicate with me? It's absolutely wacky. Like something out of one of those comics my younger brothers like to read. I have so many questions! What is the future like? I'm sorry, that's probably a dumb thing to ask. _
> 
> _ On second thought, I'm not actually sure I want to know. Just thinking about the future is kind of scary. I don't even want to think about my own future, let alone the future of the world. Not to mention 74 years in the future! 74 years, Jon! I would be 98 years old in 2020. That's nuts! Can you imagine? Me an old geezer with my hair all grey and my skin all wrinkled? I shudder to think about it. I can't even begin to fathom what all happens in the world over the next 74 years… _
> 
> _ Anyway, enough about the state of the future, how about we discuss something a bit lighter? _
> 
> _ So to respond to some of your inquiries, yes, we do have an antique shop in town! Second Chance Antiques. Feels like it's been there forever. Also, you are correct, the desk is made of weirwood. It's been in the house for as long as I can remember. Must have belonged to one of my relatives way back when. We quite a bit of weirwood furniture now that I think about it. My family used to follow the old gods once upon a time, so maybe that's why? _
> 
> _ I'm so surprised that you simply just found the letter inside the desk! That after all those years it was still right there where I left it. Now that I know, I can guarantee you that as long as I live I will never ever take it out. It's yours. Now and always. I do have a question though. How did you know my address? I keep getting your letters through the mail. You're lucky I fetch the mail every day. Good Lord, if Mother ever found out about these letters… she'd flip her wig! _
> 
> _ I can't believe they remade The Shop Around The Corner! It's so perfect the way it is! You absolutely need to go see it, Jon! But how would you watch it? Would they still play it at the movie house? DO you even still have movie houses? Surely there are so many more pictures to watch by 2020. I can't even imagine all the beautiful stories you've seen played out on the silver screen! I'm so jealous! And at the mention of fun things, there's no dance hall in Wintertown in the year 2020? Goodness, the future sounds terrible! What do you do for fun if there's no dance hall? How do you meet other young people? _
> 
> _ Thank you for your kind words. Our family was on edge the entire time our boys were overseas. We were devastated to learn of the casualties, but so grateful when the war was finally over. So many horrible losses. It makes me so sad to think of all the boys who never came home. I am happy that you've never had to experience that situation. I hope you never do. _
> 
> _ You really want to be a writer, Jon? That's so amazing! I've never known a writer before. If you couldn't tell, I'm a sucker for a good story. Is that what you want to write? Novels? Poems? Or maybe you want to be some kind of hotshot reporter sniffing out the big scoop? Either way, it sounds terrific. I'm sure you'll be dynamite at it. _
> 
> _ You should absolutely get a dog! My family has five of them! One for each of us kids! I just love my Lady so, so much. I honestly don't know what I would do without her. I don't know if my intended likes dogs. I've never asked. I'm afraid of the answer. What if he won't let me keep her? What if I have to leave her behind or give her up? Lady is so sweet. I couldn't possibly do that to her. It would break my heart. _
> 
> _ I really want to say that I'm sorry about the end of your relationship, but I'm not entirely sure that I am? I am genuinely sorry for the pain you must have felt at the time. Though it sounds like the split was somewhat amicable, and if that was the case, then I am glad. I may have only known you for a short time, but from your first two letters I can already tell you are a special person. You'll find that someone you're searching for. I just know it. I just wish I could say the same for me... _
> 
> _ Can I just tell you something? I'm so happy you bought this desk - OUR desk - for your purposes. You have no idea. This is without a doubt the most sensational thing that has ever happened to me. And out of all the people who could have purchased it, it was you Jon Snow that did it! I know we haven't known each other that long, and obviously so much time separates us, but I can't help but think that if I'd met you at the dance hall or somewhere in town that we'd get along famously. Is that too bold? I know I'm technically spoken for, but I just can't seem to find it in me to care. In only two letters, I've found a more reliable connection to you than I've had with anyone else I've ever met. Do you feel the same way? Do you lie awake at night dreaming of me? I know I can't stop thinking about you. Please tell me I'm not alone in my feelings. _
> 
> _ On that note, do you really believe we only have five more chances to talk to each other? I know we're already corresponding on borrowed time as it is, but I suppose I'm just greedy. I'm enjoying this too much, and I don't want to stop. If I had my way, I never would. _
> 
> _ I eagerly await your reply. _
> 
> _ Sincerely, _
> 
> _ Sansa Stark _

Jon finished with a sigh of relief. He reread the letter and mused on her words. For a self-described chicken, Sansa could certainly be bold when she wanted to be. Of course, the relative anonymity the letters provided had to play a significant factor there. Not to mention all of the years separating them. She didn't have anything to lose by revealing her true feelings. Maybe that fact pleased Jon more than anything else. They could be honest and real with each other. And if she could do it, so could he.

To know that Sansa was just as deep into her feelings as he was, filled Jon with more warmth than he'd felt in years. She was so easy to talk to. So affable, inviting, and open. If circumstances were different, he could easily imagine himself falling for her. And even with things as they currently were, he still found himself falling for her. That thought should have scared him, but it didn't. When he thought of Sansa, Jon felt nothing but pure love.

And it was with this feeling radiating out of every pore in his body that he wrote his reply.

> _ Dear Sansa, _
> 
> _ I got your letter! Sure it may be kind of obvious seeing as you're currently reading this response, but still! Rest assured that I really am who I say I am. I know this all sounds crazy. Believe me, I am just as confused as you are! Like I mentioned in my last letter, I'm sure the desk has something to do with all this. I've been trying to research weirwood and its rumored magical properties. Supposedly thousands of years ago some people might have used weirwoods to see through time, so to speak. Maybe that's the reason why we can communicate? I don't know. It's only one theory. I doubt we'll ever really know. And actually I think I might be ok with that? I think I can accept the unknown for now. There's something almost comforting in it. _
> 
> _ Anyway… I understand your hesitance about the future. I imagine I'd feel the same if I was in your shoes. I'll tell you that 2020 is fine, for the most part. Don't get me wrong, there are all kinds of terrible things happening around the globe. Climate change, incompetent world leaders, famine, war, some new disease trying to kill everyone apparently? And yeah those things suck, but people are still people. There's still good in this world. There's still love. There's still friendship. We have so much technology. God, you can't even imagine the kinds of things we have available at our fingertips now. We're all so much more connected than we've ever been. And yet we're still so far apart in many ways. But I suppose that's life, isn't it? It's not perfect. It's messy, and it's complicated. And even though I complain about it, I honestly don't think I'd have it any other way. _
> 
> _ Wow, sorry, didn't mean to get all heavy on you. It's probably a good thing you don't really want to know about the future anyway. I've seen one too many time travel movies, and I don't want to mess everything up, so yeah... _
> 
> _ Anyway! _
> 
> _ Second Chance Antiques was around in the 40s? That's where I bought the desk! And yeah, the letter was stuck at the back of the top drawer. I could not believe it. Now about your address, the lady at the shop told me the desk came from your home. And if you can believe it, I actually grew up just a few streets away on Christmas Tree Lane. When I was a kid, I used to walk by your house every day on the way to school. So, needless to say, I know your address very well. _
> 
> _ I'm still working on watching The Shop Around the Corner! We do have movie theaters still, and every so often they'll play an old movie. But in the future we have the ability to buy or rent movies and watch them directly in our homes. So I'll probably just do that. I'll watch it this weekend and let you know what I think about it, ok? _
> 
> _ There are still places to dance in the future. Clubs and what not. We have fun in a lot of different ways. Not all of it is so social, though. I mean yeah, people still get together and hang out, but there's a lot of ways people can have fun by themselves too. It's complicated to try to describe it, but I guarantee you fun is still had even without a dance hall. _
> 
> _ I'm sure you're thrilled to be done with the war. No more fighting. No more rationing. No more deaths. No more living in constant fear. Must be a great relief, right? Although I guess you probably have new worries to consider now, don't you? You said you turned 22 in January? God, you've seen so much history already in your life. The Roaring 20s. The Great Depression. World War II. I'm sure you have all kinds of fantastic stories you could tell. Maybe you should be the writer, not me! _
> 
> _ But yes, I do want to write. Being an only child raised by a single mother, I had a pretty active imagination. I made up plenty of stories as a kid. And I really enjoyed writing in school. It's been my dream for a long time, and I think it's just finally time I try to take a stab at it, you know? I definitely want to write novels. Or maybe short stories. Definitely something creative and original. I've had this desk for two weeks now, and I haven't written anything other than these letters to you. Got any ideas that would make a good story? _
> 
> _ Wow, five dogs for five kids? That is a lot to handle! I guess you definitely have a big enough house for it. I'm still not sure whether or not I'm going to go for it. Actually, I'm not even sure my apartment building allows pets. But what kind of person doesn't like dogs? I guess cat people? For your sake, I certainly hope you and Lady stick together for as long as possible. _
> 
> _ Since you were so bold in your letter, do you mind if I'm bold in mine? Are you really planning on marrying this man, Sansa? I know it's expected of you, and you feel it's your duty, but clearly, your heart isn't in it. Wouldn't it be possible to break off the engagement somehow? Have you tried talking to your parents? Or even to your fiancé? Surely, if you tell them the truth and reveal your feelings this whole thing could come to an end, right? Maybe I'm just too naive, but it breaks my heart to imagine you marrying someone you don't love. Especially after all the things you've shared with me. _
> 
> _ And if I'm totally honest, I also don't want you to marry him for more selfish reasons. You're not alone, Sansa. I think about you every hour of the day. I dream about you at night. I too have never felt this with anyone before. It's so strange and so out there, but I think I might be falling for you. How's that for bold? And I know it doesn't make any sense, but I can't fight this feeling in my heart. This whole damn thing is so crazy, so why shouldn't our love be the same? I hope we have more than five more chances to talk, but if this is all we get, I will cherish every single word. _
> 
> _ Friday has always been my favorite day of the week. And now, because of you, it's even more special. I can't wait to hear from you again. _
> 
> _ With love, _
> 
> _ Jon Snow _

A smile permanently etched on his face, he set down the old pen and expertly creased the paper. He slipped it into an envelope, stamped it, and addressed it. All the way on his journey to the post office, Jon weighed the situation in his mind. It was extremely abnormal for sure, but obviously, everything about this was extremely unusual as well. Maybe they could do this. Maybe they could be something real. Even if all they ever had was these letters, perhaps that would be enough? 

Jon hoped that could be the case. But for now, he refused to mull over the possible expiration date looming over his head. He wasn't going to acknowledge the heartbreak that awaited him at the end of the next few weeks. For now, he was simply going to enjoy this for what he knew it was deep in his heart: true love.


	4. March 6

Jon had been fine. For a brief moment in time, he'd been at peace with the world. But the second he'd dropped that letter into the mail slot last Friday, he'd cracked and splintered into a million little pieces. Suddenly he was a wreck. Jon spent the following week second-guessing himself, continually waffling back and forth as to whether or not he'd jumped the gun with Sansa.

It was not lost on him that he had spent three years of his life with a woman he had, at one point, assumed he would marry. And never in that time had he ever once felt the way he did when he thought of Sansa. With that pleasant chronic ache in his chest that somehow made him simultaneously happy and sad and back again. How was it possible for him to have such strong feelings for a woman he'd never met in person? And, on top of that, after only three letters shared between them? 

He reasoned that perhaps this was what online dating was like. Having never tried it himself, he didn't really know that; however, the principle was assumedly very similar: finding love in nothing more than words. Of course, the beauty of online dating was the distinct possibility that the couple could eventually meet in person. And as much as Jon liked to hope that one day he and Sansa would meet, he was still too steeped in realism to actually believe that. Writing letters back and forth was one thing, moving people through time was another. Although that didn't stop him from daydreaming about stuffing himself inside one of the desk drawers or crawling through the mail slot at the post office and magically coming out in 1946.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder if he was moving too fast with all of this. He had never been one to jump into things head first, but here he was practically laying it all on the line for Sansa. Telling her he was falling for her. Telling her he didn't want her to marry someone else. His head told him he was a fool.

But in Jon's heart, everything was perfect. Sansa was his own personal ray of sunshine. She had bewitched him with her words, making him fall in love with rusty black ink on yellowed paper. He found her there in the delicate loops of her cursive. She was there in the dots of the I's and the crosses of the T's. Every time he reread her letters, he discovered something new to cherish. Maybe he was a fool, after all.

A fool in love.

It was getting harder and harder to have to wait a week for her letters. The instant gratification of modern messaging had ruined him for this old-fashioned form of communication. Jon reckoned that he was simply just overthinking everything and that if he could read Sansa's thoughts, surely they would ease his troubled mind. 

A week was a long time to wait.

And in all that time, he hadn't come any closer to digging up the truth about the mystery of Stark Manor. He was still too afraid to venture on the internet. In this instance, warm ignorance was better than the cold hard truth, whatever that may be. So for now, he was going to wait and see how everything turned out. 

It didn't matter much anyway, with his mind always in freak out mode, he could barely concentrate on anything as it was. What he needed was a second opinion, someone to talk to. But Jon wasn't really ready to tell anyone else about Sansa yet. She was a beautiful little secret he could keep in his pocket. And he wanted to keep her that way for as long as possible. Besides, who would honestly believe that he was corresponding with a woman 74 years in the past anyway?

Fed up and anxious beyond all belief, Jon asked Sam to meet him at a nearby coffee shop late Friday afternoon. And there amongst the stressed-out college kids and the tired moms, he carefully posed questions of love to the only friend he had that was currently in a long-term relationship.

"So… how did you know that Gilly was The One? How did you know you were in love?"

Sam paused his danish mid-bite and narrowed his eyes. 

"Well, I suppose I just kind of... knew? That's not very helpful, is it?"

"Yeah, not at all."

"What's this about, Jon?" He asked, setting the pastry down on the table. It was an entirely reasonable question. One that he should have anticipated. Even still, he drew a blank.

"You know… Just like… Ummm… Well..."

Sam cocked his head to the side, clearly studying him.

"It's research? You know, for my book…"

Sam's eyes went wide. Jon's not-so-quick thinking had got his friend hook, line, and sinker.

"Your book, huh? Are you writing a romance? Gilly loves a good romance. And, don't tell anyone this, but so do I," he whispered.

Filing that bit of information away for a different day, Jon moved on, careful to keep his tentative cover.

"Well, I don't want to say too much about it yet. It's still in the early stages right now, but let's just say that there might be a little romance, yes."

"Ah, well, don't worry then. I respect your creative process. I won't pry. But just know that I am so excited about this right now, you have no idea."

Jon smirked. Sam was practically squirming in his seat. He definitely had some idea about his friend's feelings on the matter.

"So, about my question…"

"Right!" Sam nodded. "Ok, have we never talked about this before?"

"I mean, probably?" Jon scratched his chin. "But that was a long time ago, and I want everything to be fresh in my mind."

"Alright, well, you remember how Gilly and I met, right? Ok, so we'd been dating for a few weeks, and we were out at the annual carnival. It was a rather warm Saturday night, I remember. And the two of us had a wonderful time. So it was nearing the end of the night, and I'd just spent probably all the money I had on this stupid carnival game. You know, the one where you throw the ball at the stacked milk bottles? Now you know me, I've never been athletically-inclined, so it made zero sense that I was playing this game in the first place. But I had seen the look in Gilly's eyes when we passed by that booth. She wouldn't say it, but she wanted that giant stuffed octopus, and I was just foolish enough to try to win it."

Jon smiled lazily and nodded for Sam to continue.

"So there I was sweaty and having spent every last cent I had on this rigged game. And it was my last ball so I said a little prayer to help me knock them all down, right? And then I threw the ball at those damn milk bottles and WHOOSH! I just completely miss them. Wasn't even close. Absolutely pathetic. But for some reason the guy at the stand took pity on me and gave me the octopus anyway. I guess maybe he felt sorry for me, I don't know. Anyway, the moment I handed it to Gilly our fingers brushed. And the smile she gave me…" Sam trailed off, grinning bashfully. "I knew it then and there that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her."

"You just knew it?" Jon asked, sitting up straighter. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that. I don't know how else to explain it. It was like… an arrow to my heart. I just knew she was The One. I don't know how. I don't know why. It was like something out of a movie. Everything just aligned perfectly at that moment. And I had known that she was something special right from our first date, but this was something else. This was real. This was love and I knew it. Now why it had to hit me after I was just horribly humiliated in front of her, I'll never understand, but there you have it."

Sam sipped his latte while Jon sat and processed the information.

"Did you tell her you loved her then?"

"Oh, god, no," he scoffed. "Can you imagine? That would have been a disaster! No, I waited probably three more dates before I spilled the beans."

"Why did you wait? If you were so sure that you felt the way you did, why didn't you just tell her then and there?"

Sam took a bite of his danish and chewed on the question. "Well, I think even though the feeling of love was strong, there's still quite a bit of fear and anxiety that goes along with it, you know? Like, what if I'm getting too far ahead of myself? What if she doesn't feel the same? What if I freak her out? What is she laughs in my face? That kind of thing. So I was concerned about that."

Jon nodded along. "So, what happened when you finally did tell her?"

"She smacked me and asked me why I'd waited so long," Sam chuckled. 

"Well, now that certainly sounds like the Gilly I know."

"You said it," Sam tipped his glass in agreement. "Does that help you at all? You're not basing your romance on my love story, are you?"

"No no no." Jon shook his head. "I'm more interested in the why more than the how. I guess the big thing I take away is that love happens randomly. We can't stop it. We can't control it. There is no perfect moment, right? So when it happens, it hits you like a tidal wave. Maybe the real lesson here is why wait? When you feel it, just go with it."

"That's very well said," Sam agreed.

"And after listening to all that, maybe I haven't really been in love before."

"Really? But you and-"

"It wasn't the same," Jon cut him off. "I thought it was love, but I think it was more just, I don't want to say lust… Maybe infatuation? Or maybe just the exciting freshness of a new relationship? I've definitely felt that feeling more than a few times. But actual full-on heart-stopping love where you just radiate it in your bones?" Jon shook his head. "No, I've never felt that before. Maybe one day..."

He purposefully left out that maybe one day was actually today.

"Of course you will. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But I promise you that one day you're going to find that special someone. I just know it. Then you won't have to ask other people about this stuff. You'll just know."

Leaving the coffee shop, Sam's supportive words filled Jon with the kind of warmth that could keep the cold at bay. Come what may, he was confident he'd made the right decision. Now all he could do was wait and see what Sansa had to say.

Arriving back at his apartment, Jon cooked a little dinner for himself and tried not to stare longingly at the desk the whole time. Once he'd scarfed his meal, he settled himself into the desk chair. Jon ran his hands along the desktop, counting the number of drawers in his mind. Unless something completely unexpected happened, after tonight, there would only be three unopened drawers remaining. 

"God, I really hope I'm wrong," he sighed. "I would give anything to keep this going."

Not wanting to depress himself further, he slid the next drawer open and plucked Sansa's letter from its depths.

> _ March 6, 1946 _
> 
> _ Dear Jon, _
> 
> _ I feel like I've been floating on a cloud since I read your last letter. It's gotten to the point where my family is starting to ask why I'm acting so funny. I swear it must be written all over my face! It's only a matter of time before Mother corners me and forces it all out of me.  _
> 
> _ I hope you're happy, Jon, because you made me cry with your confession. Don't worry, they were absolutely tears of joy. I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I am. It's like you knew everything I've secretly been hoping for. And yet, I sometimes still feel like I'm going bonkers. It just hits me at random times. Like when I'm filing papers at work. Or when I'm walking my little brother to school. Or when I'm sewing. I know we've been corresponding for a few weeks now, so I should be used to it. But even now I stop and think how can this possibly be real? How can I be feeling this way about someone I've never even met? Someone I'll probably never meet in person? It's just beyond my understanding. I think I've finally accepted the fact that I have no answers for all my questions, and that I probably never will. _
> 
> _ I couldn't help but notice that you signed your last letter, "with love." I must admit, I've reread those words thousands of times this past week. I've traced them over and over with my fingers, willing the ink to bless me with some of your courage. So here it is, Jon, for your eyes only… _
> 
> _ I love you. _
> 
> _ There, it's written in ink. I can't take it back now. I refuse to. It's so freeing and yet, so terrifying at the same time. What a frightening thing, love is. Goodness, I have so many butterflies fluttering in my tummy right now. Or maybe they're more like hummingbirds. Please tell me you're just as much of a mess as I am! _
> 
> _ I'm trying to be braver. I'm trying to take more chances. It's all thanks to you, Jon. Something about you just makes me want to be better. I haven't quite worked up the nerve as of this moment, but I'm planning on talking to my parents about my engagement. I know they could very well refuse to listen to me, but I need to do this for me and my happiness. I couldn't bear to live with myself if I didn't try everything I could. I've always known my parents to be reasonable people, surely they'll take my fears to heart. If not, perhaps I'll have to run away. Go on the lamb like an outlaw. Would you want to be the Clyde to my Bonnie? _
> 
> _ Oh, how I wish we could run away together. Honestly, I just wish I could see you. I bet you're a good looking fellow. Tall, dark, and handsome. Like Cary Grant. Or at least that's how I picture you in my mind. Definitely a real dreamboat. Big and strong. Like you could take me in your arms, and I'd never feel afraid again. I like that thought. _
> 
> _ The future, as you describe it, seems so similar to now. I know you're leaving out so much, but so many of the big ideas still seem to fit in my time. I'll admit I'm not the most knowledgeable on world affairs, but I think the war forced me to be in some way. Before, I never thought much of what else was happening out there. I was so focused on right here in my little Wintertown bubble. Now though, I feel the need to be more informed, to do my part. Whatever that role may be. I suppose this is just a part of growing up, isn't it? The torch has been passed to my generation. I only hope we can make things better. _
> 
> _ You really grew up on Christmas Tree Lane? Every December, my family goes to pick out a tree from Mormont's! Is their tree farm still around in 2020? Which house is yours? Will you please tell me more about your family? I just want to know every little thing about you. It boggles my mind to think you're so close to me, or I suppose you will be so close to me. Tomorrow I'll have to take a walk and look around at all the sights. Maybe you'll be there with me in some small way.  _
> 
> _ I'm delighted to learn that there are still movie houses in the future. Are you really telling me that you can purchase reels and play them in your own home? Do you have your own film projector? What does that even cost? The future must be so expensive. Oh, but it would be so fantastic to be able to watch all the movies I love over and over and not have to go out and keep paying to see them! I hope you adore The Shop Around The Corner as much as I do. Something tells me you will. It's just so perfect and those letters they write! I can't think about it now without it reminding me of you. Or of us, really. _
> 
> _ On the note of stories, I've been thinking about your question on whether I have any writing ideas. Now I'm no writer, but I believe I might have the best idea around… OUR STORY! Think about it, Jon. We're experiencing something no one else ever has. It's so terribly romantic, isn't it? A love story through time. I'm literally living it right now, and I'm swooning just thinking about an actual book with this as a plot. I would love to read it someday. I hope I can. I'm positive it would be lulu. Just promise me you'll think about it, Jon. At least, if nothing else comes to you. I may be biased, but if the way you write your letters means anything, then I'm sure whatever stories you write will be marvelous. _
> 
> _ I'll be counting the minutes until your next letter arrives. I swear everytime I fetch the mail, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. Hopefully, next time, I'll have wonderful news for you! _
> 
> _ Love,  _
> 
> _ Sansa _
> 
> _ P.S. - You told me your birthday was this month. What day is it? I hope I haven't missed it! _

"She loves me," Jon whispered, voice filled with reverence. He was almost afraid that if he spoke it any louder, the words might break and melt into nothing.

It was precisely what he wanted. He beamed as he reread the letter a second, then a third time.

"She wants to see me… I think we can arrange that."

But glancing around his apartment, Jon came to the alarming conclusion that he had no pictures of himself. Nothing framed on the walls. Nothing lying about on the coffee table. No albums in his bookshelf. Other than the picture on his driver's license, he had no photographic evidence of any kind to prove he was even alive. Frankly, it shouldn't have been surprising because, as a general rule, Jon hated pictures of himself. The idea of posing and pasting on a fake smile did not appeal to him in any way. He didn't even like candid pictures of himself for that matter. He always seemed to wind up scowling at the camera. And a scowl wouldn't work for this. He wanted to look good for Sansa.

"Well, fuck," he huffed. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Jon considered his options. He had virtually no social media to speak of, and every picture he would have there would be years old and not reflective of his current state. He could probably ask Sam and Gilly or even his mother to help, but the awkwardness of the questions he'd have to endure as a result soured the idea in his mind.

Sighing, Jon took his phone out of his pocket. There was only one thing left to do, and it was something he truly detested. It was time to take a selfie.

"Here goes nothing."

Jon racked up picture after picture, trying out all different kinds of smiles and locations. By the end of his spree, he had taken over 200 selfies. And every new one he hated more than the last. 

As he kept flipping through the pictures, a thought struck him over the head. Sansa was living in the 1940s, and there probably weren't a lot of guys in Wintertown with longer hair and beards. Would she even find him attractive at all? Or would she prefer him clean-shaven with his hair high and tight? Scrubbing a hand through his whiskers, Jon briefly considered grooming to look more like she might be accustomed to. 

"No," he shook his head. "She said she wanted to see me. So that's what I'll give her. The real me."

Lifting his phone one last time, he quickly snapped a picture. Examining it, he decided it would work. It was undoubtedly the best one he'd taken, with the most genuine-looking smile. Not wanting to second-guess himself any further, he quickly sent it into the nearest corner drug store to have prints developed. He could pick it up on the way to the post office and slip it into the envelope with his letter.

With that taken care of, Jon picked up the fountain pen and a fresh sheet of paper and began writing.

> _ Dear Sansa,  _
> 
> _ You said you wanted to see me, so here I am in all my glory! Forgive me, I'm not very fond of having my picture taken. I hope you're not too disappointed. I'm definitely no Cary Grant. I'm not really that tall. I am kind of dark though. And I have been told I'm handsome before. But you be the judge. I'm sure I look quite a bit different than what you were expecting. I guess here's your little glimpse into the future! _
> 
> _ I'm so glad you were relieved at my answer because I felt just the same reading yours. All week I've been on edge wondering if I'd offended you or scared you away. Imagine my elation at learning that you not only feel the same way as I do, but you love me! And just for the record... _
> 
> _ I love you too, Sansa.  _
> 
> _ I know that we just barely know each other and that we're not even living at the same time, but it doesn't change the way I feel about you. I'd love nothing more than to see you too. If you were here with me right now I would take you in my arms and kiss all your worries away. You deserve so much, Sansa. I just wish we could be together somewhere in time. Who knows, maybe we are? Maybe we're soulmates? Maybe we've lived countless lives already, and now we've found each other again? What a shame we've been separated, though. _
> 
> _ I told you I've been searching for answers for all of this, but I'm not sure there are any. I love that you've decided to just leave it to the mystery and let it happen. I think I would be happier if I did the same. It's just so difficult. For so long, I've been living with this idea that I need to know the ins and outs of why things are the way they are. I like the control aspect, I guess. But maybe that's not how it should be. Perhaps there are just some things we'll never know the answers to. I think you have to have faith. Maybe it's time I finally let go and not worry so much. _
> 
> _ I'm so proud of you for taking a chance and putting yourself out there. Just knowing that I played some small part in your future happiness makes it all worth it. I hope your conversation with your parents goes well. I can't imagine it not working out in your favor. I really believe that once they see your true feelings, they'll immediately put a stop to things. You know, for the past year, there's this phrase I've been repeating. "I am a work in progress." I say it when I'm feeling frustrated or when I need reassurance. I think we're all just works in progress. Maybe it could help you too? _
> 
> _ Anyway, yeah, Christmas Tree Lane has always been home. I lived in the little blue house with the giant window until I grew up and moved on. My mom, Lyanna, actually still lives there to this day. It's always been just the two of us. I never knew my father, he skipped out before I was born. Never had any desire to track him down. Not after the way he treated us. She's the strongest person I know. Gentle and kind, but also fierce and passionate. Especially when it comes to me. We never had a lot of money. Mom had to work multiple jobs just to keep the roof over our heads. Clerical work, waiting tables, cleaning houses. You name it, she did it. All to keep me alive and well. She is the absolute best human, and I love her so much. _
> 
> _ And Mormont's is still there! Mom and I always get a tree there every holiday season too! Some things never change, I guess. Lucky for us, huh? I'm pretty sure old man Mormont is still running the place. Or, I suppose for you he probably would be young man Mormont... _
> 
> _ No, we don't have film projectors in our homes. Well, maybe some people do, but not us ordinary folks. We primarily watch movies on our TVs or computers. Wait, you have televisions, right? Or at least you know of them, maybe? You definitely don't have computers, though, so just ignore that one completely. But The Shop Around The Corner! I watched it the other night and you were right, I loved it! I've seen the remake a couple times, and I would always gag at how cheesy it was. But this one felt so fresh. The romance was perfect. I can see why you think of us. And you just can't beat Jimmy Stewart, right? _
> 
> _ And speaking of romance, maybe writing our story wouldn't be a bad idea. I can definitely see the appeal. Kind of a pseudo time travel romance sort of thing. I bet people would eat that up for sure! Romances always seem to do well. People love love. My only problem is I've never written a romance before. Ok, well, I've not really written much of anything before, but you understand. I'm not sure I could do this one justice, especially as a first work. But I'll definitely think about it! It's certainly a better idea than anything else I have so far. _
> 
> _ What about you, Sansa? I have my writing, but what is your dream? What is your passion? You enjoy sewing, have you ever considered making it a career? You could probably be a seamstress and make fancy dresses for people. Or be like a fashion designer. Just something to think about. I'm sure whatever you put your heart into, you'd succeed. In fact, I know it. You're stronger than you know. _
> 
> _ I always hate arriving at the end of the letter. It's always the saddest part. And unfortunately, here we are again. I wish things were different. I wish this wasn't all we had to go by. I swear to you, Sansa, if I ever find a way for us to be together, I will never let you go.  _
> 
> _ Love,  _
> 
> _ Jon _
> 
> _ P.S. - My birthday is on the 10th, so you haven't missed it yet! _

With a heavy sigh, Jon slipped the letter into the envelope. He checked his phone, and sure enough, his photo was ready to be picked up from the drug store. Quickly, he dressed for his journey and grabbed his things. As he made his way out the door, he glanced over his shoulder to get one more look at the desk.

"Only three more to go," he lamented, closing the door and locking it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact, 1946 was actually not a leap year. But for the purposes of this story, it is! Sure, I could have changed the year to 1944 or 1948 and had it be more accurate to real life, but I didn't want to. So if that bothers you, let me remind you that you're reading a story with two people communicating through a magic desk lol


	5. March 13

Jon woke up early Saturday morning feeling unusually chipper. His pleasant mood could only be thanks to Sansa's letter. Nothing else but full-on love could have ever made Jon so happy at such an early hour on the weekend. The warmth he felt in his heart was almost as comforting as the cocoon of blankets on his bed.

After a while of just laying there basking in euphoria, Jon's stomach rumbled. A man can't survive on love alone. Taking a mental note of the food he had in his kitchen, he decided he didn't really want to break his fast on stale Cheerios and expired milk. Leaving the safety of his bed, Jon grabbed his coat and hat and set out into the brisk morning air. 

The sun was just starting to peek out over the tops of the shorter buildings downtown, giving everything a warm hazy glow. Jon's feet moved on autopilot towards his destination. The only place in the city he could get a decent cup of coffee, a fat stack of pancakes, greasy hash browns, and all the bacon and eggs he could eat for practically no money down. Mickey's Diner. 

Like the old downtown post office, Mickey's was a relic from a bygone era. A classic railroad dining car outfitted for good food at low prices. There were fourteen stools at the perpetually sticky bar and four vinyl-covered booths off to one side that came complete with table-top jukeboxes. They featured a simple menu that had most likely remained unchanged since their opening day. Nothing fancy. No frills. It was just what he needed this morning.

The bell over the door tinkled, signaling his arrival. The woman behind the counter looked up at the sound, nodding tersely in greeting. With only three other people eating inside, it would be a quiet breakfast.

Sitting down at the bar, Jon placed his order without hesitation. While he waited for it to be filled, he gazed around the establishment, taking in the vintage atmosphere. It wasn't the first time he'd been in Mickey's by a long shot, but it was the first time he'd really paid attention to his surroundings.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Jon asked the waitress as she poured his coffee. "Can you tell me how old this place is?"

The woman sighed and flipped his menu to the back page with an ease that denoted plenty of practice. "You should find all the answers to your questions here. Now, if there's nothing else, your order will be up shortly, hun."

"Uhh, thanks," he said sheepishly, eyes already scanning the page.

True to her word, Jon found a brief history of Mickey's. The car itself had been manufactured in 1937 but not installed in Wintertown until 1939, where it has been in constant operation ever since. Carefully he studied the black and white photos on the page, examining all the faces wondering if any of them could possibly be Sansa. Would this have been the kind of place she might have come in her day to enjoy a milkshake or slice of pie? He smiled at the thought.

"Order up, hun," the older woman said, sliding an extra-large plate of food his way.

"Thank you." he replied, already pouring a generous amount of maple syrup over his pancakes. In no time he was wolfing down forkfuls of bacon and eggs. As he ate his mind started to wander and his fingers itched to do something other than handle food. For the first time since he'd bought the weirwood desk, Jon finally felt like writing.

He couldn't deny that the idea of turning their love story into a novel was extremely tempting. It was such a unique concept. One that he was confident would undoubtedly have the potential to be a big hit. But that little voice of insecurity kept nagging him. Writing a novel was a massive undertaking, and Jon hadn't even written so much as a haiku in nearly ten years. Would he really have the capabilities to pull this off? And could he possibly be able to do it the justice it deserved?

"I am a work in progress," he muttered to himself, mouth full of fluffy pancakes. "And so is this book."

Jon kept pondering the idea as he finished his meal and walked back to his flat. By the time he unlocked his door, he'd decided that there wasn't really any harm in just trying it out. He literally had nothing to lose at this point. So with that in mind, he grabbed his laptop and settled himself at the weirwood desk.

"Welp," he breathed, opening a blank document, "here goes nothing."

Jon started typing one word at a time. And then another. And another. And before he knew it, he'd spent the rest of his Saturday filling up page after page with words. It was like his fingers couldn't work fast enough to keep up with the synapses firing in his brain. He worked late into the night, getting down a rough outline and the bare bones of the first few chapters. He slept in on Sunday, woke up, and did it all over again, adding more and more words to his new project. All the while, his muse was right there with him speaking through the desk, guiding his hands to help him tell their story.

Over the next week, nearly all Jon did was write. Somehow in between, he was able to find the time to eat, sleep, and go to work. He was like a man possessed. The only night he took off was Tuesday, his 27th birthday. That evening Jon went to his mother's house for a quiet dinner where he, unfortunately, had to dodge one too many questions about what exactly had him so distracted.

"I'm just saying, you seem so far away."

"I'm right here, mom. I'm always right here."

Lyanna shook her head. "No, you're off somewhere else right now. Tell me, what's got lost? Is it a girl? Or are you finally writing?"

"I'm writing," he grinned bashfully, hoping she wouldn't press further.

"You tell me everything right now! I want to know!"

"Mom," he whined, secretly loving her enthusiasm.

"Ok ok, fine! You artsy types are the worst," she sighed through a smile. "Come on, just give me a hint. An elevator pitch. Anything! What's the basic premise? What's the genre?"

"Romance."

Lyanna's eyes sparkled. "Really? My baby is writing a romance novel? I can't believe it."

"It's hard to explain right now," he gestured with his hands. "But, I promise that I'll tell you everything soon, ok?"

"Oh, I can't wait!" She squealed, leaving her seat to plant a giant kiss on his head. 

After dinner, Jon went out for drinks with a few friends. Sam and Gilly gifted him a typewriter from Second Chance Antiques (Sam's new favorite place to shop) and a book on the history of Wintertown.

"Thanks, guys," he said, carefully thumbing through the book.

"The lady at Second Chance told me the typewriter was the same kind Stephen King used to write on. But she very well may have lied to get the sale. Please don't fact check her just in case."

Jon chuckled. "It's fine, Sam. In fact, it's better than fine. All work and no play makes Jon a dull boy, right? Not sure I'll ever use it, but it does look really cool."

"And the book isn't much, but it's a start," Gilly said. "I saw it and knew you had to have it after our dinner. It looks like it was written over thirty years ago, so it's in desperate need of an update. Wink wink."

His friends were nothing if not encouraging. "I'll see what I can do. Maybe after I'm done with this project I'm currently working on, I can get to that."

"Oh, yes! I'm absolutely DYING to know everything about this book you're writing!"

"Can't you tell us anything, Jon?" Gilly pleaded. "Sam is driving me crazy. Everyday all I hear is 'Jon this' and 'Jon that.' I don't know how much more I can take. My husband is worse than our toddler."

"Ok fine," he gave in. "All I can tell you right now is that there is romance. There are supernatural elements involved. And it is based on something I may or may not have found inside the desk after I purchased it."

Sam blinked rapidly, a look of wonderment reflecting off his face. "Did you hear that, Gilly? I think I might pass out."

"Yep, I heard."

"My god, this is going to be the most amazing thing I've ever read. I just know it. I am calling it right now! Good lord, how can you tell me all that and expect me to be able to wait?"

"Yeah, Jon, how can you expect me to have to put up with this?" Gilly smirked.

"I am so... sorry?"

"You should be," the couple said in unison before Sam was babbling to himself, the three appletinis he'd consumed clearly starting to take effect. "...we have got to start saving up money because I am going to buy at least 100 copies of this book. We have to give them to all our family and friends. And I'm going to need a class set for school. This is happening. OH, BUDDY, THIS IS HAPPENING!"

"Ok! Well, on that note, I think Sam and I need to go home and talk about our finances. So we'll talk to you later. Happy birthday, Jon," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Thanks for everything, Gilly. Take care of our boy."

"Oh, I will. Come on, Sammy."

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY JON!" Sam shrieked, giving him a big bear hug before bounding off to catch up to Gilly.

"Happy birthday to me," he uttered, taking one last drink before heading home.

Making up for lost time, Jon spent all of the next two evenings writing deep into the wee small hours of the morning. Exhausted, he slipped off to sleep early Friday morning, but at some point during the night, something happened to him. Something he couldn't explain.

With the sky black and the moon high, things are different. Liminal spaces birth altered realities. Stranger things occur. Somewhere in the dark, the barrier between what is here and what is unknown melts. Shadows become monsters. Monsters become angels. And they all come and go. There inside Jon's bedroom, someone found him.

A woman with hair like molten lava and kind eyes of the deepest blue. She smiled at him sweetly, and wrapped her arms around him like he was a child, her embrace soft and warm. She tenderly kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, whispering words of love and comfort. In the security of her arms, he found absolute peace. But nothing gold can stay, and just as mysteriously as she'd come, she was gone, leaving Jon alone in his bed.

He woke with a start, his brain working a mile a minute to retain every single detail from the curious encounter he'd just had. Jon could still feel her all around him. Her lips on his skin. Her hands running through his hair. Her breath on his face. Her memory burned itself onto his person.

It had been Sansa. It wasn't even a matter up for debate. There was no other explanation. He didn't know how. He didn't know why. But Jon knew with every fiber of his being that it had been her.

After that, he spent the bulk of the day in a fog. Anxious for her next letter, he took off work early and raced home to the desk.

> _March 13, 1946_
> 
> _Dear Jon,_
> 
> _First of all, let me just say HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I LOVE YOU! You have no idea how glad I am that I didn't miss it! I know this letter will be late, but it doesn't change the sentiment. How I wish I could have been there to celebrate with you. It's not very ladylike to boast, but I can bake a mean cake, and rest assured that had I been with you, I would have made you the most delicious cake of your life. Whatever your preferred flavor piled high with gobs and gobs of frosting. You would have loved it! I know you would!_
> 
> _Now that we have that out of the way…_
> 
> _Oh my goodness, is this really a photograph of you? And in fantastic technicolor to boot! You're so much different than how I pictured you in my head. You have a beard and long hair! I'm stunned. I've never seen a young man with a beard before. Sure my grandfather has a beard, and I've seen them on other old men, but never someone like you. Someone so young. Someone so handsome. Oh yes, I am thrilled to know that I at least got that part right! How did I get so lucky to land an honest to goodness dreamboat? Maybe you aren't Cary Grant, but you are Jon Snow. And that is what I love about you._
> 
> _You know, in all this time I've spent memorizing the details of your photograph, I've had the wackiest thought. There's something about you that I can't quite put my finger on. You're so familiar to me. Perhaps it's that you almost look like a Stark. By that I mean you have the same long face, dark hair, and grey eyes as my sister and father and so many other Starks before them. If you were here in my time, someone probably would mistake you for my brother or a cousin or someone. I don't have the Stark look, though. I have the Tully look like my mother before me. Blue eyes, auburn hair, pale complexion, and so on. All my life people have told me I'm a real dish, so maybe I'm not the only one who got lucky?_
> 
> _I'm just looking at your picture again as I write this letter and is it terrible of me to be envious of your beautiful curls? I cannot get over how perfect they are! Trust me, all the girls I know would kill to have such luscious locks. I bet you don't even appreciate it, do you? Typical!_
> 
> _It suits you, though. All of it. The hair. The beard. The smile… so warm and yet so shy and understated. You could never go around my time looking like that. People would think you were a hobo or a caveman! Certainly not someone to be welcomed in polite society. I don't mind, though. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, but I absolutely adore your appearance. You look wild and dangerous. And now I see this little bulge of muscle in your arms. You look so strong. Like you could just grab me and do all manner of unspeakable things to me. You should see the way I'm blushing right now!_
> 
> _Lord, it makes me wonder… what would it like to be with you in that way? To feel your hands on me. To put my hands on you. Would your beard be soft? Would it tickle me when we kissed? Would your hair be as silky smooth as it looks? And how would your lips feel on mine? Or elsewhere, for that matter? I wish I knew..._
> 
> _I've been keeping your picture in my pillowcase at night. I know it's silly, but I think it helps me dream of you. I've taken to living vicariously through my dreams because when I'm asleep, you're here with me. You're solid and real and loving me. And when I wake up, you're gone. I want you, Jon. No, I need you. I need you here with me. Now more than ever…_
> 
> _I had that long conversation with my parents the other day. However, I'm afraid I don't have much good news for you at the moment. I laid out all my reasons for not wanting to marry him. They listened, but I could tell they were upset. God, I hate upsetting my parents. I've always been their "perfect" child. Always do what I'm told. Never go against the grain. But enough is enough. At least it's done now. I've said my peace. Now I wait. I don't know what will happen next, but one thing is for sure. I refuse to marry that man. Not when the man I really love is out there somewhere in time._
> 
> _I've been thinking a lot about soulmates. I should like to believe that that's what we are. We were meant for each other. I'm sure of it. But somewhere along the line something went terribly wrong. How else can you possibly explain all of this? How cruel that we've been pulled apart. Two islands separated by an ocean of time. It's not fair._
> 
> _This is why you should be writing our story, Jon. All of this longing and pining. Imagine the possibilities! Oh, please tell me you'll write it! I would love to read it someday. Hopefully, I'll still be around so that I can. I would give anything to see the fruition of your lifelong dream. And speaking of dreams..._
> 
> _Now that I think about it, no one's ever really asked me about mine. I mean, I think my friends and family assume plenty about what I love or want to do with my life, but they never bother asking me. How is it that you're the first person to do that? It feels so wrong, but of course, it had to be you, didn't it? You are my soulmate, after all. You're correct, I would love to do something with fashion. I love the entire process of embroidering. I also love the arts. Music, painting, literature, film. Anything pertaining to those areas would be swell. Maybe once all this marriage stuff is out of the way, I can finally pursue my dreams!_
> 
> _I've taken to walking down Christmas Tree Lane almost every day. I don't know what it is, but I'm drawn to the place. I think just knowing the fact that one day you'll be living there just makes me want to be there too. I know I'm decades away from that moment. I'm sure your mother, who sounds like the most amazing woman, by the way, hasn't even been born yet. I don't know what I'm going to do with all of this knowledge I have now._
> 
> _You're in everything I do now. Everywhere I go, I wonder if you'll one day follow in my footsteps. I feel your presence everywhere. I wonder, can you feel me too? Tonight I'm going to go outside and look up at the moon and count the stars and hope that somewhere in time, you're doing the exact same thing._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Sansa_

When Jon finished the letter, he immediately jumped out of his chair, pulled the blinds, and looked up into the night sky. Even through the glow of city lights, he could make out a few twinkling stars and a waning moon.

"I'm here, Sansa," he whispered. "I'm right here with you."

He couldn't help but be slightly disappointed she hadn't sent him a picture in return. It was the one thing he'd been selfishly hoping for the most this week. He was dying of curiosity. He desperately wanted visual confirmation, especially after his dream the other night. But maybe he didn't need visual evidence after all. What was it that she had written in her letter?

"The Tully look. Blue eyes, auburn hair, pale complexion…" He trailed off, mind working overtime. "It _was_ her. It was Sansa. She's my dream woman. Holy shit, I knew it! I fucking knew it!"

A giggle bubbled up inside him and burst forth. He couldn't believe it. It was all so bizarre. Just add it to the list of absurdities. Jon sat down and reread the letter twice over. Despite some levity early on, there was definitely an overall feeling of sadness permeating her words. Not to mention a slight detour into more scandalous topics that Jon would have to file away for a later date. But for the most part, it was like Sansa was desperately trying to reach out to him through the page. 

Jon swallowed thickly and glanced down at the two remaining unopened drawers.

"She knows we're running out of time..."

Sighing heavily, he plucked a fresh piece of paper from the drawer and began writing.

> _Dear Sansa,_
> 
> _Thank you so much for the birthday wishes! I had a nice quiet dinner with my mother and then went out with a few friends after. I even got a few presents! An old typewriter if you can believe it. I guess I'm a real writer now! I thought I had a nice day, but now that you're telling me I missed out on the best cake of my life… I am super bummed. I can honestly say that I am sure I would have loved it._
> 
> _Once again, I assure you that it's actually me in the photo. I can't tell you how many pictures I took of myself before deciding on that one. I had to get it just perfect for you, Sansa. So yeah… It's a little embarrassing. And clearly, a lot of things are much more socially acceptable in my time than they were in yours. Nobody really bats an eye at my hair or beard here. And just for your information, I do appreciate my hair. I make sure to take excellent care of it, and I get plenty of compliments on it, thank you very much._
> 
> _And now here you are showering me with even more compliments! Now I'm the one blushing! But god, Sansa, you have no idea how much I want you. I swear if I had you here with me right now… The things I would do to you… I would satisfy your every desire. We would never leave my bed. God, I want to see you Sansa. I'm such a sucker for red hair. I'm sure you're fucking gorgeous._
> 
> _It's so funny you mention dreams because I had one just last night. At least, I think it was a dream, but I'm not sure. It felt so real. A woman came to me and took me in her arms, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. A woman who I now know matches your description. It was you who visited me, Sansa. I know it was. It was the single, most peaceful feeling I have ever experienced in my life. I wish you could hold me all the time. Then I could always have that peace with me._
> 
> _I totally understand your trips to Christmas Tree Lane. It's just like Meadowlake Street and me. There's something about knowing, isn't there? It's insane just how alike we are. Every single place I go to in this town, I wonder whether you've been there. The city streets. The post office. Mickey's Diner. You cast a large shadow on my life, Sansa._
> 
> _I would love to give you my condolences for your conversation with your parents, but I find that I'm not all that sorry. Sure, I wish you didn't feel so awful, but I'm not sorry you did it. In fact, I'm just so incredibly proud of you for following through with it! That is a HUMONGOUS step you just took. You're slowly reclaiming your life, Sansa. These things take time. Trust me, I know firsthand. There isn't an easy road from here, but I have faith that you will make it to the other side. Soon you'll be free to follow your dreams and find the romance you always dreamed of. I just wish it could be with me._
> 
> _I wish I could build a time machine. I want to be the one taking you out to the movies. I want to be the one dancing with you. I want to be the one who walks you home and kisses you on your doorstep. I want to be the one putting a diamond ring on your finger. I want to be the one who marries you. I want so much, Sansa._
> 
> _But I have to be realistic… That's not our fate._
> 
> _We may be soulmates. I want to believe that. But you said it yourself, there's so much time between us. I can't imagine how we could possibly be together the way we want to be. I hate to write this, but I have to accept that these letters are all we'll ever have. I have to, or it will kill me._
> 
> _You're an amazing person, Sansa. You're warm and kind, a romantic through and through. You're funny and smart and creative. You see the best in people. You're going to do great things one day. You're going to find someone who makes you happy beyond all belief. You're going to live out your dreams. You'll have a big family. I know you will. You deserve all of that and so much more. You deserve true love and happiness. I don't want to share you with anyone else, but I can't be selfish. I can't keep you when I've never really had you to begin with. I'm so sorry. This is just so much harder than I ever anticipated._
> 
> _I took your advice, though, Sansa. I started writing our story. All week I've barely been able to stop writing. I have a long way to go, but so far I'm feeling really good about it. I just want to make sure that you are 100% on board with me doing this. I know it was your idea in the first place, but only say the word, and I'll stop. If you allowed me, though, I would love to use your letters in the book. Maybe not entirely quote them verbatim, but keep them as close to your words as possible. Please let me know if this all sounds ok with you. Maybe I'll even send you a sneak peek. I don't know. It's the least I can do. The one way I can keep our love alive forever._
> 
> _I want you to know that after I finished reading your letter, I immediately went to look up into the night sky. I was there with you. Did you feel me? I think I'll start making that a habit. Every night from this moment, as long as I live, I'll look up at the moon and count the stars. Maybe you'll be there with me somewhere in time._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Jon_

Finished, he dropped the pen onto the desk and cradled his head in his hands.

"It's just not fair."


	6. March 20

Self-isolation. Quarantine. Social distancing. With the entire world succumbing to sickness, suddenly this became the new way of life. For Jon, this wasn't much different from what he'd become accustomed to over the past year. Although, at least then he'd had the option to go see people if he wanted to. Now, he couldn't see anyone he loved without risking the health and well-being of himself and others. 

And yet, despite the unfortunate circumstances, Jon's situation was actually rather fortuitous. As his office was closed indefinitely, he only had a minimal amount of work to accomplish each day. This allowed him to spend most of his time doing whatever he desired. So, of course, when Jon wasn't sleeping or working, he was writing. Every day his story grew and grew as he remembered new details to add. He spent hours lassoing his thoughts and feelings to put them down on the page. 

When he'd begun writing the story, he'd initially used his and Sansa's actual names as placeholders. But as he progressed further, he realized that even if his story was going to be autobiographical in nature, there was absolutely no way he was going to write it as such. Even if every word was true to life, Jon didn't want anyone believing that he had written some bizarre self-insert fantasy. It just wouldn't look right. So instead Jon became James and Sansa became Sara. That was the easy part. The hard part was deciding what to do with the letters.

For the moment, he'd copied Sansa's letters verbatim just to get them all down on the page, intending to reword them all to some extent at some point in the future. Soon though, Jon ran into the problem of not having his own letters to use for reference. Since he couldn't very well ask Sansa for his letters back, he wound up having to cobble together makeshift versions from memory. Whatever he couldn't remember, he filled in from Sansa's responses. It would have to do.

Whenever Jon got stuck or needed a break, he would read. He'd devoured the book Sam and Gilly gifted him for his birthday. It had shed more light on the history of the town and the role the Starks had played in shaping it, but had been extremely light on the actual lives the Starks had led. And once things had moved into the twentieth century, information became even scarcer. Jon couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. His curiosity was starting to get the better of him, and being stuck at home all day with his thoughts perpetually revolving around Sansa was not helping. But with only two drawers left, he stayed strong, refusing to investigate the subject any further.

His feelings for Sansa grew more and more each day. Now with the anticipated expiration date of their shared communication merely days away, Jon was starting to get desperate. Taking the financial hit of overdue library books, he once again scoured the texts on weirwood and the children of the forest for any kind of clues. Just one morsel about time travel was all he needed. Anything to give him a shred of hope that it was possible. In a moment of weakness, he even searched the internet for information on building credible time machines. And as he expected, he found nothing but his own foolishness.

Something else he'd taken to researching in his spare time was dreams. And in particular the topics of lucid dreaming and astral projection. If his dreams were truly the only place he could be with her, then Jon intended to do everything in his power to make that happen. So every night, after gazing up at the stars and moon, he spent time willing his mind to focus and find Sansa. But every morning, he woke with no memory of having even dreamt at all. 

"I am a work in progress," he had to remind himself.

By Friday, he'd been stuck alone in his flat for nearly a week. Even though he was a homebody by nature, Jon was growing tired of the four walls keeping him caged inside. He was getting antsy for fresh air, even if only for a bit. Reasoning that it would be fine to go out as long as he took care to keep his distance from others, he made a plan to go to the one place that had been dying to revisit. So after finishing up lunch and a last bit of work, he loaded into his truck and drove off to where his siren's song was leading him.

Meadowlake Street was just as quiet as the last time he'd been there. The only sound the gentle breeze carried along was the chirping of birds. The fresh rain and warmer temperatures had washed away any last vestiges of winter, paving the way for the rebirth of springtime. Stark Manor looked different with the sun high in the sky. Still worn and torn, but somehow more like its old self. 

Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Jon pushed open the iron gate, the ancient hinges creaking loudly. He stood there for a long moment, soaking in the feeling of being inside the gates for the first time. Tentatively, he took one step toward the house. Then another. And another. Even though he could see all of this form the other side of the fence, it was all so strange actually being inside the gate. It was like stepping off a spaceship onto an entirely new planet. Everything was different, and yet everything was the same.

Jon followed the path that led up to the house. When he arrived at the steps to the large porch, he stepped cautiously, worried they might buckle due to rot. They moaned and groaned under his weight, but thankfully held firm. At the top, he stepped carefully over loose floorboards and exposed nails. Despite his earlier assessment of the house from afar, up close, it was indeed in poor condition. Years of neglect had taken its toll on the old building. Jon felt a tug in his heart, wondering how Sansa would feel to see her home in such a sorry state. 

His eyes locked on the front door, zeroing in on the knob. Figuring he'd already come this far, he decided to keep going. Ignoring the "No Trespassing" sign, Jon reached out to touch the brass and an electric spark zapped his fingers, jolting him back in surprise. Shaking his head at himself, he clasped the knob in his hands and turned it. Surprisingly, the latch clicked, and the door swung open to reveal the one place he'd wanted to see all his life.

Jon stared down at the threshold, noting the gravity of the situation. There was no turning back now. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Despite having sat abandoned for many years, the inside of the house still retained its lavishness. The large black-and-white-tiled entryway opened up into an even larger space with a grand central staircase leading to the second floor. Not fully in control of his body, Jon took a step towards the stairs, an invisible force guiding him into the unknown. He had to physically stop himself from following his feet, instead deciding to explore the entire lower floor first.

Jon cautiously padded through the old house, careful not to step on any of the trash and debris that littered the floor. Sunlight filtered through the broken windows, illuminated the swirls of dust he kicked up with every step. If this had been any other abandoned house, Jon would have been on edge wondering what kind of monster lurked within its depths. But there was something about Stark Manor that put his fears at ease. He felt comfortable there as he walked from room to room, almost as if he knew what he might find around each and every corner. He wound his way through bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms, and offices. As well as the massive kitchen and dining room. And after turning on the flashlight on his phone, Jon even ventured downstairs into the admittedly creepy basement and root cellar.

Satisfied with his exploration of the downstairs, he came back to the grand staircase and slowly climbed it one step at a time. He held onto the banister for support, imagining Sansa doing the same some 70 years in the past. At the top, he had a decision to make. Left or right. That pulling sensation tugged him to the right, but Jon stubbornly chose instead to go left, wanting to save whatever was waiting for him down the hall for last.

Upstairs held more of the same as downstairs. Just room upon slightly different room. Nothing special, really. Then Jon heard a sound. It was faint, just barely there over the noise of his feet moving. He stopped to listen for more. Seconds ticked by. There it was again. Louder this time. A voice coming from down the hall. Was there someone else in the house? The voice spoke again, soft and sweet. A woman's voice. Jon held his breath, wanting to hear it clearly this time. He waited and waited, but nothing came. Deciding to investigate, he took a step out into the hallway, and the moment he did, the voice spoke into his ear as clear as a bell.

"Jon," it called to him, and he jumped a foot in the air, breaths coming fast and shallow. He whipped his head around trying to find the source. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement flutter into another room at the end of the hall. The place Jon knew he was being called to.

"Hello? Anybody there?" He questioned. There was no answer.

His hands shaking, Jon touched the pocket on his jacket where he'd put Sansa's letters before he left. He felt her love flow through his veins, giving him the courage he needed to continue. His heart pounding, Jon arrived at the doorway where the movement had been. Peering inside, he came face to face with a small black raven sitting on the window ledge. It cocked its head this way and that, seemingly sizing him up. Not wanting to spook it, Jon gingerly stepped into the room.

"Was that you making all that racket, little bird?" He asked, feeling ridiculous for being so frightened of a bird. It cawed once, whether in agreement or disagreement, before turning tail and flying through the broken window. Jon was alone again.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled in a huff, surveying the room. There was something different about this room. Not really so much in looks, but there was a feeling there. Something warm and inviting that wrapped him up in a comforting blanket of love.

"This is Sansa's room," he whispered. 

Jon gazed around the room, imagining what it had looked like 74 years ago. As his eyes scanned, he could almost see it all materialize before him. A four-corner bed taking up the majority of the space. A large wardrobe up against the wall. The weirwood desk against another. Artwork scattered throughout. An overstuffed pillow on the window seat. A small bookshelf. A dress form in the corner wearing a beautiful new creation. Fresh-cut winter roses in a vase on the nightstand. Nothing out of order. Everything in its right place. 

Closing his eyes, Jon inhaled deeply. Somehow through the heavy odor of dust and decay, there was a barely-there hint of another fragrance. Lemons. He smiled and held his arms out, a sudden chill creeping up his spine. Another presence had entered the room. But this time he wasn't afraid, he was home.

Slowly, he swayed his body every so slightly back and forth. Feet stepping lightly, he twirled around in the empty room. With his eyes closed and the scent of citrus in his nose, Jon could almost believe Sansa was there dancing with him. For a moment it was all real. But when he opened his eyes, he was alone. 

Releasing a shaky breath, Jon saw through the window that the sun was getting low.

"How long have I been here?" He asked himself, checking the time on his phone to find that he'd lost hours since he'd been inside the house. It was time to go. Savoring one last look at the room, he made his way through the hallway, back down the stairs, and out the door, closing it behind him gently.

With the sun in his eyes, Jon took in the view of the property, admiring the mirrored perspective of that which he'd come to know by heart. Sighing, he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and descended the steps back down to the path that led out. As he plodded along, he observed the squirrels running through the weeds and wildflowers to scramble up the large blossoming trees. Jon admired the largest, a mighty maple, as he passed by. But something strange about the tree caught his eye and gave him pause. From where he stood on the path, he could just make out a marking on it. And it didn't look natural. Curious, he left the trail and trampled through the overgrown lawn to get a closer look.

"Holy shit," Jon breathed, reaching out to run his fingers along the deep grooves in the wood. "I can't believe it."

There on the trunk of the maple tree was a carving in the shape of a heart. Inside the center, two letters had been etched into the wood. J and S. 

Jon shook his head, a grin cracking over his features. He stayed rooted to that spot until night fell, hand never leaving the tree. And once the stars poked through the blanket of black and the moon shone down, he stared up at them knowing she was there with him.

"I love you, Sansa," he whispered, disconnecting from the tree and leaving Meadowlake Street for home.

Back at his apartment, Jon opened the second to last drawer of the desk. He tore into the letter and began reading.

> _March 20, 1946_
> 
> _Dear Jon,_
> 
> _Trust me when I tell you that I mean this with the utmost love and respect. You are an idiot. A real fat-head. How dare you write those things to me? You don't get to decide who I love, Jon Snow, only I do. And I will love you for as long as I want to, so you better get used to it._
> 
> _I don't care if we can't be together. I don't care if this is all we have. I know our love is real. I feel it in all of me. My heart. My bones. My very soul. A piece of you will always live inside me. That won't change just because we might not be able to talk to each other anymore. How could I ever possibly forget the man who made my dreams come true? The man who came in and swept me off my feet with nothing but his words? I cannot and I will not. You're too important to me._
> 
> _Before you, I was starting to lose all hope. I was convinced I would marry a man I despised. I was convinced that love wasn't meant for me. I was confident that I would never feel that incredible ache in my heart. That's why I wrote that first letter. It was a desperate plea for help. I was a drowning woman in need of a life preserver, and you sent me an entire lifeboat._
> 
> _You'll never know all the things you've done for me. All the things you've changed in my life. I could list them all, but there would never be enough paper in the world. And it's not fair that I can't take you in my arms and kiss you for each and every little thing, but ours is a different kind of love. A courtly love. Like a knight and his fair lady. We are cursed to be chaste, forced to love each other from afar. This is our fate._
> 
> _I'll admit I've been holding out hope for something… I'm not really sure what. In my dreams you bust down my door with your wild curls and lift me in your strong arms and take me away from everything. I would love that to happen, but it's not real, though. It's only a fantasy. You're not coming for me. You can't. How could you? I have to accept that, no matter how much it pains me. Just like you, I have to be realistic._
> 
> _You should know that my engagement has thankfully come to an end. You did that, Jon. You helped me stop the biggest mistake of my life from happening. Thank you so, so, so very much. It's been so difficult this past week with all the fall out, but I think things are finally looking up. I'm free! Isn't that what I wanted? Yes, free to be with whomever I want to be with. But what happens when I can't be with the man I want?_
> 
> _Perhaps you're correct. Maybe someday I will find another man. A man that will love me for who I am. A man that will encourage me and push me to follow my dreams. A man that will be a true partner in every sense of the word. A man that is brave, gentle, and strong just like Father promised. Perhaps we'll get married and raise a family. I hope you're right, I genuinely do. But every time I close my eyes, it's you I see. I want you and only you, Jon. Y_ _ou are my soulmate, and I will wait for you for a lifetime. For now, you are enough for me._
> 
> _I've been thinking about Casablanca all week. Did you ever see that one? Another favorite of mine. I can't tell you how many times I saw that film. That line at the beginning… "Of all the gin joints in the world…" Think about it. Of all the desks in the world, you could have bought any one of them. But no, you bought mine and all of this happened because of it. This is fate, Jon!_ _And then Humphrey Bogart's speech at the end, I can't help but think that it somehow applies to us as well. Where I'm going, you can't follow, just as I can't follow you where you're going. But we'll always have this desk. We'll always have these letters we wrote to each other. No one can ever take that away from us. I just wish Sam could play our song again…_
> 
> _And speaking of songs, there's one I've been playing on repeat on our old Victrola. It's been driving my family bananas, but I can't help it. Vera Lynn's We'll Meet Again. Have you heard it before? They used to play it non-stop during the war for our boys off overseas, but now I've come to think of it in a different light. You and I will meet again, Jon. It's our destiny._
> 
> _I wonder if I'll ever stop thinking about you. I hope not. I can't imagine not thinking of you with every letter I write. Or with every Christmas tree I get from Mormont's. Or in every star I count. Every slice of lemon cake from Mickey's. Every movie I watch. Every book I read. Every Valentine's Day. Every March 10. Every single day for the rest of my life. I think you'll always be with me, Jon. Even when I'm old and grey. Maybe then we can finally meet each other._
> 
> _And with all that being said, please, please, please give me a peek at your writing! I'm so very proud of you for following your dream, Jon! And I would love nothing more than to see our story written by you. I can only hope that I live long enough to read the whole thing someday! And don't worry about me, I give you my permission to write whatever you want. You're the writer here and I trust your judgment. I want you to have the best story possible, so if that means using my letters, I'll allow it in any capacity. Just please promise me one thing? Give us a happy ending, Jon. Keep our love alive._
> 
> _I know this is so very sad and awful, but I have to believe that everything happens for a reason. Fate brought us together, but unfortunately our time is almost at an end. I feel truly blessed to have gotten to know you these past weeks. You've shown me more love than I've ever known before. I only hope I've done the same for you, Jon._
> 
> _Until we meet again._
> 
> _All of my love,_
> 
> _Sansa_

Jon sniffed, wiping a tear from his cheek as he finished her letter. He read it twice more, tears continuing to fall onto the page, the fat droplets smudging the ink of her immaculate cursive. Needing to step away for a moment, Jon went to his bathroom and splashed his face with ice-cold water. After taking several deep breaths, he went back to the desk. Pulling out the old pen and a fresh piece of paper, he began crafting his response.

> _Dear Sansa,_
> 
> _I'm so sorry to break your heart. Trust me when I tell you that I didn't want to. I hated writing those words to you. And I hate even more that they're so unbearably true. Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long to discover that I'm an idiot. I must have hid it better than I thought. But seriously though, I love you so much. You make me laugh, Sansa, even in this trying time. Thank you for that._
> 
> _Our love_ **_IS_** _real. I am convinced of it. You've become part of me and I will always carry you inside my heart. I know I've only known you for six weeks, but I'm not sure how I've been living without you all these years. It's like I've known you my entire life. And I've still never seen your face!_
> 
> _You play on my heartstrings with your talk of knights and ladies. You know, I've always loved that stuff. I really wanted to be a knight when I was little. Slay dragons and rescue the damsels in distress. It was always my dream. I never realized it until now, but maybe I am one. Yours and yours alone._
> 
> _I don't think it's wrong to hold out hope for a fantasy, Sansa. I'll tell you that I've been doing the same. More than that, I've been actively searching for ways to change things. I just want so badly for us to be together. I'm desperate for any solution. So here I am trying to find plans to build a time machine as if that was even possible. I just need to finally face the facts. This is it. This is all we get. And it's been the greatest seven weeks of my life._
> 
> _I just wish we had more time…_
> 
> _Words cannot possibly express how proud I am of you for standing up to yourself. My happiness for you is beyond measure. You're a free woman! Now you truly have your entire life ahead of you to do with as you please. Will you continue to follow your dreams? I hope so._ _For the record, I just want to tell you that I am insanely jealous of any man that might potentially win your heart in the future. You're so special. I can only imagine it would have to be an equally special man to strike your fancy. As for myself… I don't know. I can't see myself with any other women. How could they possibly live up to you? We fit together like puzzle pieces, you and I. What a shame that those pieces are lost in time._
> 
> _But I suppose one day I might find someone else to love. Someone who pushes me like you do. Someone just as supportive. Someone just as beautiful inside and out. Someone as romantic and sweet as you. Someone who could literally spend an entire day watching movies. I would like that. I could maybe even love that. But she would never be you, Sansa. No one could ever compare. She would always be second place._
> 
> _Can I just say that Casablanca is a classic? Now I've only seen it once, but everything about it has become iconic. It's the epitome of romance, so of course you would love it! I think you definitely are onto something there with your ideas. It was fate that we met, and we will always have this desk and our letters. I will keep them safe for you, Sansa. Treat them with the utmost care and respect. And I even know that song too! You're in literally everything I do, and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way._
> 
> _I hope we really will meet again someday, more than anything. Maybe one day, the desk will work its magic again, and we'll be able to communicate once more. I don't know how, but I'd like to think that it's possible._
> 
> _Thank you for your constant support on my writing, Sansa. You've been my entire inspiration. My muse. I could never have started any of this without you. I promise you that I will do my best to give our story the justice it deserves. And I will give us that happy ending. I will keep our love alive. You have my word._
> 
> _I know we still have one more to go, but it kills me to think that these are some of the last words I'll ever write to you. I have no idea how I'm going to be able to let you go. Perhaps some kind of miracle will occur and time can bend for us to finally be together. But until then, no matter what happens, just know that I have loved you wholly and completely. Not a day will go by that I won't think of you and smile. I'll love you for all eternity, Sansa. My soulmate. The love of my life._
> 
> _Here's lookin' at you, kid._
> 
> _Yours forever,_
> 
> _Jon_
> 
> _P.S. - I've included the first few chapters of my novel for you to read! Bear in mind they are still pretty rough. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!_

Jon put down the pen and set the letter aside, grabbing his laptop. He opened up the document containing his manuscript. Scanning it quickly, he decided he could reasonably give her the first five chapters to enjoy. He was just about to print them out when his eyes traveled to the corner of his desk, where he'd stashed the "Stephen King" typewriter. It would be more work than he wanted to do, but for some reason, the thought of typing up those pages felt right.

"Does it even work, though?" He wondered aloud, grabbing a piece of paper and loading it inside. After a bit of experimentation, he found the machine to work almost perfectly. 

So for the next few hours, Jon diligently copied the first five chapters of his manuscript, making slight changes here and there as he went. Once finished, he carefully creased all the pages and slid them inside the envelope. He was surprised to find that it all fit rather easily, but he wasn't going to question it. He'd seen plenty of strange things these past few weeks.

Jon licked the seal closed and did the same for the stamp. He savored the disgusting flavor of the adhesive on his tongue, slightly sad that this was one of the last times he'd be tasting it. And after writing her name and address down on the envelope, he took off for the post office.

The city streets were absolutely deserted. Not a soul was outside, the only sound a lonely saxophone playing someplace far off. It was an astounding thing to behold for a Friday night in downtown. Jon thought back to just a few weeks ago when he'd had to zig-zag left and right to avoid the crowds on the sidewalk. Now he was the only man alive walking through a ghost town. The farther he walked, the eerier it became. Jon picked up his pace, wanting to finish this task fast.

The old post office was still the same as ever. Just as majestic and just as empty. Following the same routine as always, Jon stepped up to the old mailslot and pulled open the old brass door. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the letter through, listening as it slid down into nothing. He kept it open for a moment, wondering if any magic could find its way out and transport him back in time too. But when nothing happened, he sighed, closed the door, and turned on his heel to leave.

But then something strange happened...

Out of nowhere, a crackling noise like a needle dropping onto an old record suddenly sounded. Jon stood paralyzed, his heart racing. He whipped his head around to find the source of the sound, but there was no sign of anyone anywhere. Soon the crackles gave way to the sound of strings and horns that echoed eerily off the slick marble floors and high ceilings, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. A woman's voice started singing, and Jon nearly fell to his knees once he recognized the song.

> _We'll meet again_
> 
> _Don't know where_
> 
> _Don't know when_
> 
> _But I know we'll meet again_
> 
> _Some sunny day_
> 
> _Keep smiling through_
> 
> _Just like you always do_
> 
> _'Till the blue skies drive_
> 
> _The dark clouds far away_
> 
> _So will you please say hello_
> 
> _To the folks that I know_
> 
> _Tell them I won't be long_
> 
> _They'll be happy to know_
> 
> _That as you saw me go_
> 
> _I was singing this song_
> 
> _We'll meet again_
> 
> _Don't know where_
> 
> _Don't know when_
> 
> _But I know we'll meet again_
> 
> _Some sunny day_

Unable to bear anymore, Jon's brain screamed at his legs to move. He scrambled out of the post office and ran all the way back home, with his lungs on fire and tears clouding his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what was going on in this chapter lol


	7. March 27

The anticipation of opening the final drawer was killing Jon. He had never before not looked forward to a Friday, but now the only thing he felt was dread. He wished he could stop time. Press pause on this moment so it never had to end. His self-imposed quarantine certainly didn't help matters. The desk sat there in its spot by the wall mocking him all day every day. And with nowhere else to go, he had no choice but to deal with it.

Now with the end of his communication with Sansa in sight, Jon found himself at a loss. His mind was scattered. He could barely do any work. He had no appetite. His writing had come to a grinding halt. He didn't sleep. But he did dream at night and during the day. He kept seeing things. Visions. Hallucinations. Ghosts. Sansa was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He had long stopped questioning his sanity and simply accepted the fact that there were no answers to any of this. The entire experience was beyond any logical explanation. 

To calm his addled brain, Jon took to plugging into his headphones and going for long walks through the deserted streets of Wintertown. With the world tuned out, his feet racked up mile after mile, and every day he walked farther and longer. By Friday, he'd walked the full circuit from his apartment downtown, past his mother's house on Christmas Tree Lane, and all the way to Meadowlake Street. 

He stopped at the gate of Stark Manor, grasping the rusty old bars in his hands. With brows knit together, Jon stared longingly up at the abandoned house. Only for a minute did he contemplate stepping foot inside again, ultimately deciding against it. Not because he was afraid of whatever had occurred there the week before, but because he didn't trust himself to not get lost inside and never leave. Taking one last look, he turned and made the long journey home.

"I'm not ready for this," Jon said to himself later as he sat down at the old weirwood desk.

Even though he hadn't opened the last drawer yet, Jon recognized that he was already in mourning. Their love might have started only from ink on paper, but those words had taken root deep in his heart. And even though he'd lived without them for years, he couldn't imagine next Friday coming and going without having heard from Sansa. It was going to take a hell of a lot of getting used to.

Deciding it was now or never, Jon leaned down to grip the handle. He stopped himself short.

"What if I just didn't open it?" He thought aloud. "What if I never open it? Then this wouldn't have to end. I would always have one more to go. I could do that, right?"

The resounding silence was all the answer he needed. There was simply no universe in which Jon did not open that drawer. He was too much a fool in love to ever deny himself Sansa's last letter, no matter how painful it might be. So with one hand on the desktop holding himself steady, he reached down with to pull open the final drawer. Just like always, there was a yellowed envelope inside with his name on it. Slowly, Jon picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was hefty, like it was stuffed to the brim with pages upon pages of Sansa's final thoughts and feelings.

"Well," Jon swallowed thickly, "here goes nothing."

Savoring the experience, he meticulously broke his way into the envelope and pulled out the contents. As he unfolded the papers, something fell onto the floor. Placing the rest on the desk, he stretched down to pick up whatever had fallen. Bringing it back up to his eyes, Jon nearly dropped it again. It was a photograph of a woman.

"It's her," he marveled, eyes scanning the picture. "Sansa."

There she was in full color, reclining on a plush chaise lounge, one leg over the other. Her vibrant auburn hair was done up in classic victory rolls, exposing her delicate neck and the fat string of pearls around it. She wore a figure-hugging purple dress that showed just a hint of her décolletage. Jon assumed it was one of her own designs. Cupped in her slender hands was a single blue winter rose she dangled teasingly. Her smiling ruby lips popped against her pale skin. And her sapphire eyes sparkled as if she was sharing a secret.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Gorgeous. Radiant. A goddess captured on film. Jon's eyes continuously moved about, unable to stay on one of her features for more than a moment. She was quite literally the woman of his dreams, exactly how his mind had conjured her. He could have stared at her for an entire lifetime, but remembering her letter, he reluctantly set the photo on the desk. It was time to read her last words to him.

> _March 27, 1946_
> 
> _My Dearest,_
> 
> _I'm so sorry it took me so long to get a decent photograph for you. I wanted everything to be just perfect, and it took me ages to find a studio that used color film. And then the wait for the print took even longer. I'm just so thankful it was all ready in time for this final letter._
> 
> _I can't believe this is the end, Jon. I've cried more tears this past week than I ever thought I had inside me. I could have written you thousands of pages, but no words could ever express the love I have for you, nor the deep sorrow that we must now part ways._
> 
> _I've read those five chapters of your book over and over so many times. You really are a gifted writer, Jon. But I decided that if you're going to use my letters, it's only fair that you use yours as well. So I have diligently copied them all and included them here for you to continue our story. Only five chapters, but it's already so very wonderful. Please finish it, Jon, and publish it for the world to read. Give us the happy ending we deserve._
> 
> _You'll never know just how much you've changed my life. Seven weeks ago, I was so incredibly heartbroken and desperate. Today I am confident and filled with love. Despite the end of our time together, I'm hopeful for the future. What lies before me will be so unbearably difficult without you, but I know that I will always carry a piece of you with me._
> 
> _I love you with all my heart, Jon. I will never forget._
> 
> _Forever yours,_
> 
> _Sansa_

Tears streaked down his face as he finished reading. He quickly turned the page to the back, hoping to find more. It was blank.

"No, no, no," his voice shook, "this can't be it. There has to be more."

Frantically, Jon flipped through the rest of the pages she had included. True to her promise, he recognized every page was his words written in her hand.

"FUCK!" He shouted, scattering the papers on the desk. He scrubbed the tears off his cheeks and raked his hands through his curls. "I have to write her back. She has to know I love her. One last time."

He ripped the top drawer out of the desk, wildly searching for his supplies. Whereas the week before there had been an excess of paper, envelopes, and stamps, now nothing remained except the old fountain pen.

"What the fuck? What the fuck?" Jon repeated in disbelief, tears overflowing in frustration.

Not ready to give up yet, he forced a fresh sheet out of his printer tray and put pen to paper. But no matter how hard he scratched at the page with the old fountain pen, no ink marked it. Jon had thought he would have one more chance. He'd been wrong. It was over.

"The desk giveth and the desk taketh away," he chuckled mirthlessly, tossing the pen down. His eyes found her photograph again. Just the sight of Sansa made him feel calmer.

"Everything happens for a reason," he whispered, echoing the words from her previous letter.

Grabbing the picture off the desk, Jon propped it up on his nightstand and collapsed into bed, absolutely exhausted. He focused on Sansa's beautiful face until he blanked out, falling into a blissfully dreamless sleep. He woke late the next morning, feeling no relief, only felt the telltale pin-pricks of numbness settling in. Deciding there was no reason not to now that it was over, Jon finally sat down with his laptop and Googled her.

Just as he'd known she would, Sansa had gone on to do great things. She'd started her own seamstress business in the late 40s, which had eventually expanded into her own fashion label. Using money from her earnings as well as the Stark fortune, she dedicated her life to helping revitalize Wintertown and supporting its occupants. She started scholarships, grants, and foundations to help those wanting to pursue their dreams in the fine arts. She funneled money into the preservation of parks and other historic Wintertown sites, in addition to raising awareness for various economic and social issues. Jon coursed through just about every article and picture he could find of her. How strange it was to watch her age as the years passed. Even in her older years, Sansa was still beautiful.

Unable to stop the gnawing in his gut, Jon dug deeper to find out more about her personal life and her current whereabouts. It didn't take him long to find the information. Vowing to give her one last letter, he grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and a brand new pen.

> _Dear Sansa,_
> 
> _I'm so sorry you had to wait so long for my final letter. I promise you it wasn't my intention. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without you now. But knowing that you had hope all those years ago gives me the confidence to carry on. I'm still a work in progress. I always will be, and that's ok._
> 
> _You've changed my life more than you'll ever know, Sansa. Thank you so much. And don't you worry, I will give us the happy ending we should have had. You started this all those years ago with a desperate cry to love and to be loved. Now you can rest easy knowing that you accomplished both of those things._
> 
> _Forever yours,_
> 
> _Jon_

Satisfied, he creased the paper and slipped it into a new envelope. Jon felt a bizarre twinge of sadness that he wouldn't ever taste the awful adhesive again. Once finished, he grabbed his keys and set off toward his destination, stopping only to buy an arrangement of winter roses for her.

It was a delightful spring day. The sun was warm as he walked, but the light breeze kept him cool. Jon searched and searched until he found her waiting for him on the crest of a hill under the shade of a large weirwood tree, the carved face mirroring the grief he felt. Her headstone was a simple design, yet there was a certain kind of elegance to the granite. The area around it was overgrown and in desperate need of tending. Jon's breath was shallow, and he read the epitaph through burning eyes.

**_SANSA MINISA STARK_ **

**_JANUARY 13, 1924 - JUNE 25, 1998_ **

"74 years old... She was so young," Jon whispered, chest aching. "Jesus, fuck, she lived 52 years without me. No husband. No kids. No family. God, I'm so sorry, Sansa. I'm so sorry..."

He broke down, falling to his knees before the stone, the roses and letter dropping to the grass. There was no possible way to describe the sheer agony Jon felt as he kneeled there completely eviscerated, choking on his own tears. He'd been hoping for a miracle that would have brought them together. He'd been hoping that Sansa would still be alive, and he could visit her and talk to her. He would have given anything for that, but he'd never even had a chance. She'd been buried almost as long as he'd been alive. Jon wiggled his fingers into the soft earth, wanting nothing more than to dig through the dirt so he could lay down beside her. Instead, he shifted his legs into a sitting position. Resting his head on his arms, he allowed his body to shake with sobs.

Not knowing what else to do, Jon began talking, sharing his entire life with her. His hopes. His fears. His dreams. His insecurities. Everything he'd neglected to put in his letters. He had to get it all out. He craved the catharsis of finally letting it all go. By the time he finished, it was nearly dusk. Wanting to lay down the flowers he'd brought, Jon shuffled up to the stone to clear away the brush and leaves that had gathered at the base. There he found another engraving, Sansa's final message to him.

**_I NEVER FORGOT._ **

"Neither will I, Sansa," Jon promised with a watery smile, craning his neck up to look at the sky. "Neither will I."

Carefully he arranged the flowers to his liking, cradling his letter amongst them. He stood back up and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jackets, still feeling the dirt of her grave caked on his fingers.

"Until we meet again," he whispered.

* * *

The days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. The sickness had taken its toll on the world, but little by little, it got better. Life resumed at a new normal. The time of isolation and quarantine was over, and people worked hard to pick up the pieces of what they'd had to forcibly leave behind. During that time, Jon had kept his promise to Sansa. He wrote furiously, ripping his heart out daily to stain the pages with his love. He'd grown quite fond of his gifted typewriter, using it almost exclusively to tell their story. By early autumn, he had completed a rough manuscript. He was hoping to have it all editing and ready to go by the end of the year.

The days of social distancing may have been over, but without Sansa, Jon had never felt more alone. He tried to stay busy, churning out poems and short stories when he wasn't working on his novel. Reasoning that the more active he was, the less time he had to feel lonely. His friends helped some, but Sam and Gilly could only do so much to fill the void. Having missed his mother during all that time, he took to having weekly Sunday lunches with her. And it was during one of those lunches that his entire world turned upside down once again.

"What's the matter, love?" Lyanna asked over the rim of her teacup.

"What do you mean?"

"Jon," she said, giving him her best _don't-play-dumb-with-me_ look, "you're a space cadet."

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "It's nothing, mom. Really."

"Come on, it's not nothing. You know you can tell me anything, honey."

He sighed. "I just… I have a lot on my mind lately."

"Well, go on then. We've been locked up for months. I could use a good gossip."

Jon took a moment to gather his thoughts, calculating just how much he wanted to reveal to his mother.

"So, you know about my book, right?"

Lyanna's eyes twinkled. "Oh, so this is about your time-traveling romance… Ugh, have I told you I loved the idea? You know I am _dying_ to read it, right? And just for your information, I excelled in all my language classes in school so I can help you edit and proofread if you need me too..."

"I know, I know," he smiled at his mother's enthusiasm. She was almost as bad as Sam. _Almost_. "Do you want to know what sparked the idea?"

"Oh, yes, please! Tell me!" She leaned forward, clearly excited for more.

Steeling himself, Jon reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out one of Sansa's letters. The first one. He'd never shown it to anyone else, but it was time.

"This right here… This letter put everything into motion."

Placing the envelope on the table, Jon slid it over to his mother.

"You remember that old desk I bought? Well, that first night after I brought it home, I found this hidden away inside one of the drawers."

Lyanna gingerly picked it up, eyes questioning his. Jon nodded at her to open it and read.

"It was still sealed when I found it, and I really wasn't sure what to do with it. But I wound up reading it that night, and I just… I was immediately bewitched. I kept reading it and rereading it. I couldn't put it down."

"Really?" She asked, eyes scanning the letter.

"Yeah, there's just something about it… Anyway, before I knew it, I had the whole book in my head," Jon finished, sitting in silence while he studied his mother's reaction to the letter. The way her features softened. The way her brows knit together. The way tears pooled in her eyes. 

"Oh my god," she breathed, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Sansa Stark wrote this? In 1946?"

He nodded.

"I can't believe this…" She trailed off, eyes back on the page. "Jon, I knew Sansa Stark. We both did."

"I don't…" His mouth was dry as a bone. Jon felt himself sinking fast. "I don't understand?"

"You remember I used to clean houses, right? Well, for a brief time in the late 90s, I worked at Stark Manor."

Jon's head was spinning, and he gripped the table tightly to hang on. "I remember you cleaning houses, yes. But what I don't remember is you ever working at Stark Manor."

"Well, that's not surprising, you were very young at the time," Lyanna recalled. "But yeah, twice a week for about two years or so. Right up until she died. God, she was such a lovely woman."

Jon took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his cool. He had a million questions running through his brain, and he needed to ask all the right ones without sounding completely insane.

"How have I never heard of this?"

"What, did I need to give you my resumé with a list of all my past work experience?" Lyanna snorted. "It was a place I worked for a while. It was a good job. The money I earned helped me make the downpayment on this very house."

"How did you start working there, mom? Did you know Sansa previously?"

"Oh, no. Of course, I was aware of the Starks my whole life. How could you not growing up in this town? But I'd never met any of them before Sansa." She paused, taking a sip of her tea. "In fact, now that I think about it, I don't exactly remember how I got the job. You were so young at the time, and I was willing to do almost anything to keep a roof over our heads. I used to advertise myself a little bit in the newspaper to get odd jobs here and there. Maybe she saw one of those ads and took a chance? Either way, I was extremely grateful for the opportunity."

Jon's mind wandered back to one of the letters he'd written to Sansa. He distinctly remembered discussing his mother and the fact that she'd cleaned houses to support the two of them. Could Sansa have planned all this?

"You said…" He paused, attempting to wrangle his flurry of emotions. "You said I knew Sansa too?"

Lyanna beamed. "Oh, yes, very well. I struggled to keep you in daycare at the time. You were a nightmare back then, Jonathan. An absolute terror of a toddler. When I told her about you, she insisted you come too. Now I definitely had my reservations, she was a stranger after all, but something about her made me trust her. And I figured if things got too out of hand, I would find out quickly, anyway. If you didn't like something, everyone knew it."

Jon swallowed. "So she would... babysit me then?"

His mother nodded. "She was so wonderful with you. As far as I know, she never had any children of her own, so I think she relished getting to have a little grandbaby of sorts to love on for a little while. It was so sweet."

Jon blinked rapidly, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay as Lyanna continued.

"And you took to her so fast, I couldn't believe it. I had the hardest time getting you to do just about anything, we used to butt heads constantly. Oh, but not with Sansa. No, when she spoke, you would stop and listen. It was the strangest thing. She turned you into the perfect little gentleman. She could make you smile and laugh like nobody else. And she could soothe your tears almost better than I could. I gotta tell you, thinking about it now, I'm kind of jealous," Lyanna chuckled, eyes staring off in the distance. "She really seemed to just love you immediately."

"She did?" He asked, voice breaking slightly.

"Oh yes, and you loved her too. You know, I'm pretty sure I actually have a picture somewhere…" Lyanna hopped up, scampering off in the direction of the hall closet where Jon knew she kept the old photo albums.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered the moment she was out of earshot, hands tearing through his curls. He was completely and utterly shattered. This was too much to handle. "Jesus fucking Christ."

'A-ha! Here it is," Lyanna exclaimed as she waltzed back into the kitchen, her photo album in tow. She flipped it around and placed it in front of him.

"Right here," she said, pointing to the picture at the top of the page. "That's you and Sansa. You must have been around 4 or so here."

Jon stared in disbelief at the photographic evidence before him. A young Jon, all unruly curls and dirty cheeks, was snuggled up to an older Sansa on some old ornate piece of furniture. They both wore matching smiles. She was so much older than she was in the framed picture currently sitting on his nightstand at home, but it was still her. Her hair might have been more silver than copper, but her eyes and smile were just as bright. He could envision it all so clearly in his head. Suddenly all his dreams didn't seem so much like dreams anymore, but instead long-forgotten memories having bubbled back up to the surface. This was why the house was so familiar. This was why he'd been drawn to it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" 

Jon didn't even know where to begin. His heart broke for Sansa. What must it have been like for her? To knowingly meet the love of your life, but be unable to do anything about it? He couldn't even imagine the sheer torture that must have been for her. Why would she willingly put herself through such a thing? 

"Sorry, mom, I'm just- I'm at a total and loss right now. I mean, what are the odds? This is just... fucking insane. Sorry for cursing."

Lyanna chuckled. "It's fine. Frankly, I'm surprised it took you this long."

"Mom? Did Sansa seem… happy?"

"I think so, yes. Honestly, I can't ever remember her being in a foul mood. She was always bright and welcoming. Like a ray of sunshine. Especially when you were with me. Such a shame she isn't still around. I bet Sansa would have loved to have seen you all grown up."

Jon swallowed the lump in his throat, preparing himself to ask the big question that he'd never found the answer to.

"How did she die?"

Lyanna frowned. "I'm not really sure. It was very sudden though, I can tell you that. It happened on a Thursday because you and I had just seen her earlier that afternoon. And then the next day it was all over the news. So strange. She'd always seemed so healthy and like she took good care of herself. But that's life, I guess. Unexpected and mysterious. We just do what we can with the time we're given."

"That's right," Jon nodded, feeling far away. "The time we're given..."

"I had no idea about any of this, though," Lyanna said, picking up the letter again. "I wonder what happened with this engagement. She never mentioned ever being married. How sad for someone so clearly starved for love. I hope she found it."

"Me too," he almost whispered.

"I bet she would have been so tickled about being the inspiration for a romance novel. She was always telling me about a new book she'd been reading or a new film she'd seen. She used to read to you all the time to keep you occupied, you know. That, or watch old movies with you."

Jon grinned. "Sounds like we had a good time."

"You know," Lyanna started, "part of me has always wondered if Sansa was the reason you wanted to get into writing. Even though you only knew her for a brief moment in time, I think maybe she had a big impact on your subconscious. I don't know where else you caught that bug from."

Now that was a thought he would have to revisit later. 

"What happened after she died?"

Lyanna sighed, running the fingers along the letter. "Well, I believe there was some kind of power struggle over the estate. Distant relatives coming out of the woodwork and clashing with her will, maybe? I'm not really sure. Either way, I was relieved of my services effective immediately, and the property was liquidated not long after. That's probably how you wound up with that desk."

Jon nodded at her to continue.

"It was hard for us. Money was tight, and you were constantly acting out. You were too young to really understand what was happening, but you knew that things were different. I remember one time you cried yourself to sleep, asking over and over for Ms. Sansa. It broke my heart."

Looking back down to the picture of the two of them together, Jon tried to imagine what it must have been like for that little boy. He would never see Sansa again. He would never go inside that house again.

"Why was the house abandoned, though? Shouldn't it have been preserved? It's so significant. What happened to the rest of the Starks? Why didn't someone else step in."

Lyanna hummed. "Sansa didn't talk much about her family. I know they'd suffered several tragedies over the years. Her parents and at least two of her siblings had rather untimely deaths. As for the rest, I don't know. Maybe they just moved on?"

"So she was the last Stark?"

"I think so," Lyanna agreed. "Or at least the last that I know of."

"And the house?" Jon prodded.

Lyanna shrugged. "I don't know, but someone should certainly swoop in and restore it to its former glory. It's so depressing to see it in such a sorry state."

"Maybe one day," he sincerely hoped, leaning back in his chair.

"You know what I think, Jon?"

"What's that?"

"That all of this," she gestured at the letter and picture on the table, "was fate. Fate led Sansa to us. Fate led you back to her desk. This isn't random, it happened for a reason. You were meant to tell this story. There's some kind of higher power at work here. I believe it in my bones."

Jon nodded. "I think you're absolutely right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you're probably asking yourself right now, WHAT THE FUCK???? I THOUGHT THIS WAS GONNA HAVE A HAPPY ENDING????? And you're not wrong! I promise it's coming! SEE YOU ALL NEXT WEEK FOR THE FINAL CHAPTER!!! ❤️❤️❤️


	8. June 24, 2023

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > _ "... James stood dumbstruck, completely in awe of the woman before him. Had it actually worked? Could it really be her? _
> 
> _ She certainly looked like the Sara he knew from her photograph. Porcelain skin, ocean eyes, and hair as red as the leaves on the weirwood tree she was standing before. Absolutely radiant in every single way. _
> 
> _ James swallowed, his breathing shallow. 'S- Sara?' _
> 
> _ 'James? Is it… Is it really you?' _
> 
> _ He nodded like a fool, a grin cracking through his stone face.  _
> 
> _ Sara looked around in wonder. 'I'm really here?' _
> 
> _ 'You're really here,' he whispered, still in disbelief. _
> 
> _ They stood frozen in place, both taking in the gravity of the moment. After all that time spent yearning for something that could never happen, here they were not five feet apart, the closest they'd ever been. That is, until the earth shifted underneath their feet to bring them crashing together in a tangle of limbs. They held each other desperately, as if the other might disappear at any moment. And as the sun set over the hill, James and Sara shared words of love and a kiss. A promise for a neverending future together. _
> 
> _ Funny how not so long ago, time had been slipping through their fingers. Every passing moment a reminder of the fleeting nature of time. But now that they were finally together in one place, they found that they had all the time in the world." _

Jon thanked the audience and closed the book. He looked up into the eyes of the hundreds gathered inside Cassel Books. For a moment, there was only reverent silence, but then that space was quickly filled with thunderous applause, whistles, and shouts.

Even after nearly a year of doing these things, Jon still hated this part. Accepting praise had never been his forte, and being on the business end of so many adoring fans made him uncomfortable. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for all the attention and success - far from it. He certainly wouldn't be in this position without all of these wonderful people and their support. But it was all still so very surreal that this was his life now, when just three short years ago he'd been wallowing in misery alone in his one-bedroom apartment. Not being one to disappoint his fans, Jon put on a smile and waved to all that had come out to catch a glimpse of their hometown hero.

He'd kept his promise to Sansa, spending months and months on edits and rewrites until everything was just right. He'd been sure to give the characters the happy ending they deserved. The one Jon and Sansa should have had. Once he'd finally finished, he'd shopped it around to several publishing houses before one thankfully saw enough potential in the story to sign him. And after going through another couple rounds of rewrites and edits, Jon's first novel,  _ We'll Meet Again _ , was published. Thanks to heavy promotion and marketing, it didn't take long for the book to catch the public's imagination. In no time at all, Jon became an overnight sensation. Sansa had been right about their story all along.

_ We'll Meet Again _ topped bestseller lists around the globe, launching Jon into the international spotlight. Suddenly the humble boy from Wintertown was doing big-time photoshoots, magazine interviews, and late-night talk shows. The time-traveling romance between James and Sara set the world aflame so much that a film version was already in pre-production. Jon only wished that Sansa could be there to see it with him.

It was all so strange and embarrassing that millions and millions of people knew the details of his and Sansa's romance. Yet not a single person knew that it was all so incredibly real. It had been challenging to talk about at first. Jon knew it was all part of the game, and that the very nature of his novel brought this upon himself. But that didn't make it any better. Every inquiry into the origin of his book was like ripping open an old wound that had never properly healed. He always kept his answers brief and to the point, glossing over anything he could. But it didn't matter, the damage was already done. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but maybe not those made by losing the love of your life.

Critics and fans alike praised Jon for his prose, especially the letters. And in particular, Sara's. They gushed over the authenticity of the words, in awe over the fact that Jon had seemingly written something that felt so extremely real and organic. He hated taking credit for Sansa's words, but what other choice did he have? No one would ever believe him.

Jon was under tremendous pressure to continue the story. But he'd told his agent and his publishers from the very beginning that no matter what, there would never be a sequel. It had already been hard enough to write this first book. There was no way he'd be able to write an entirely new one filled with things Jon experienced only in his dreams and fantasies. He couldn't stomach it, not if he ever wanted to move on and properly heal.

"I am a work in progress," he still reminded himself constantly. He took everything one day at a time. There was always room for improvement. Move forward. Move ahead. Just keep going.

More than three years on, Jon's love for Sansa still burned as bright as ever. With her letters in pockets and her name carved onto his heart, he carried her wherever he went. Thankfully his lifestyle kept him distracted for the most part. But that didn't stop him from being lonely in the wee small hours of the morning. It didn't stop him from longing for a soft body to warm his cold bed. It didn't stop him from dreaming about her. Sansa was everywhere around him, but nowhere to be found.

"There he is! There's our boy," Sam greeted, giving Jon a bone-crushing hug the moment he stepped off the makeshift stage. "Absolutely brilliant reading, my friend. I didn't breathe the entire time."

"Oh, move over, Sam, and let me hug my son!" Lyanna beamed, shoving his friend aside to wrap her arms around him. From over his mother's shoulder, Gilly gave Jon a wink and a thumbs-up, her other hand on her baby bump. The second Tarly child was less than a month away from greeting the world, and Jon couldn't be happier for his friends. 

"Little Sam, didn't you just love Uncle Jon's reading?" Sam asked his son, nudging him with his elbow.

"Yeah, it was great. So beautiful and moving. I laughed. I cried. I lived," the boy said, not sounding at all like he'd been heavily coached to say those exact lines.

Jon crossed his arms and smirked, sharing a look with his mother.

"Well, I can guarantee you that Little Jon loved it, at least," Sam promised, gesturing to his wife's bump. "Right, Gilly?"

"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes.

"I gotta say, I really,  _ really  _ hope it's a girl. I honestly just can't express that enough."

"Oh, that's fine," Sam waved his hand. "If it's a girl, we'll just call her Juanita then. Plain and simple."

"Over my dead body, Samwell Tarly," Gilly glared at her husband.

"Don't worry, she'll come around to it."

"I'm sure she will, Sam," Lyanna agreed in a sing-song voice that dripped sarcasm. "Do you want us to stay for the signing, honey?"

Jon shook his head. "Oh no, I'm gonna be swamped for the next few hours signing books and whatnot. You're welcome to stay, of course, but I'm sure you all have much better things you could be doing. Thank you so much for coming, I love having you all here with me. Means a lot."

Sam scoffed. "Like we could possibly miss all this?"

"Yeah, we certainly had nothing better to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon than cram inside an ancient bookstore with hundreds of other people," Gilly teased.

"Well, I think I can speak for all of us when I tell you that we are so very proud of you and all that you've accomplished, Jon," Lyanna said proudly, giving him another hug.

"Here, here!" Sam agreed. "Now, can you sign a few more books for us before we leave?"

"A few more books?" Jon snorted, incredulously. "Didn't I already sign an entire horde of books for you? Are you selling these for a profit? Some kind of underground romance novel black market?"

"Well, excuse me for wanting to both support my friend and help spread your story to the unwashed masses."

"Yeah, you're excused, alright," Jon shot back, doing quick work to sign Sam's books. Then he and sent his friends and family off to enjoy the rest of their day before heading to the signing table where a massive queue was already waiting for him to arrive.

Over the next few hours, Jon smiled for selfies and signed copies of his book, doing his best to keep the line moving at a reasonable pace. He was delighted to see many familiar faces - old friends, coworkers, and teachers all happy to see him be so successful. Every so often, someone would hold up the line to tell him about how his writing had touched them personally. Or someone would give him a gift or handmade artwork. Those were the people he loved most. Meeting them reminded Jon why he was doing all of this in the first place. 

But there were other people he wasn't so fond of. Specifically those that would pepper him with questions like they were trying to stump him. Or people that liked to give him unsolicited suggestions or criticism, as if he wanted to hear that from random people. And of course, being a successful, well-known bachelor, Jon also received more than his fair share of phone numbers from women and men alike. He accepted them all with grace, but always tossed them immediately. It was flattering, but whether those people wanted love or just his money or fame, he had nothing to spare for them

By the time evening was upon him, Jon's hand was cramping, and his cheeks hurt from all the forced smiles he'd endured. His ass was sore from sitting all day and his stomach rumbled, his lunch long forgotten. Once he'd signed what he had assumed to be his last book, Jon leaned as far back as he could in his chair. He closed his eyes and groaned, stretching his limbs out to get the blood pumping again.

"I'm sorry, am I too late for the signing?" Asked a sweet voice.

"Oh, no, no," he yawned. "I think you got here just in the nick of time."

Jon sat forward and blinked a few times to get his eyes readjusted. And then when he finally saw precisely who it was standing in front of him, he blinked a few more times, confident he was hallucinating.

"Oh good, it would have broken my heart if you'd said yes," she teased, an amused smile on her gorgeous face.

Jon's jaw was on the table. He could do nothing but gawk at the woman before him, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Sansa. Only she was flesh and blood instead of paper and celluloid. For the first time in three years, Jon felt like he was losing his grip on his sanity. There was no possible way she could be in front of him right now. Not when he had literally seen her grave. But here she was, all the same, carrying on, blissfully unaware of the complete and total inner meltdown he was experiencing.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I've been here since before the store opened?" She asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "I've been waiting all day to talk to you. Working up the nerve, I guess."

"You- You have?"

"I know this probably makes me sound like I'm some kind of stalker or something. I promise I'm not, I just-" She paused, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I just wanted to talk to you... Like, really talk to you. And I knew you'd be busy all day. I mean, how could you not be? You're  _ The Jon Snow,  _ author of the biggest book in like a decade. Everybody loves you. Why would you ever want to talk to me? But anyway, I waited and waited, and I knew it was now, or never so here I am."

"Here you are, is right," Jon swallowed, shaking his head at himself. "Sorry, what did you… What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I'm sorry, how rude of me. I didn't even introduce myself," she made an annoyed face, sticking her hand out for Jon to take. "Sansa. Sansa Stark."

There it was. Confirmation. It was her, or at least some version of her. Slowly, Jon reached out, only slightly concerned that his hand might pass right through hers. But it didn't. She was solid. Warm. Real. The feel of her smooth skin on his sparked a flame inside him, reigniting the smoldering embers in his heart.

"Jon Snow," he responded like an idiot, unable to let go of her hand.

"I know that," she giggled. It was the most beautiful music he'd ever heard in his life.

"Yeah, sorry…" Regrettably, he withdrew his hand from hers, feeling the intense desire to flex it like he was in a regency period film. "Sansa, was it?"

She nodded. "I was named after my great aunt. She died the day I was born, and I guess my parents just decided, why not? Must have been fate though, I'm told I look exactly like her."

"You do," he agreed, before coughing and quickly recovering with, "I mean, do you?"

"Yeah, it's true," she smiled. "I've seen pictures. Same hair. Same eyes. Same cheekbones. We're practically twins."

Jon licked his lips and, taking her invitation, allowed himself to study her features. He'd stared at his Sansa's photograph enough times to be able to paint her portrait with his eyes closed. And this woman - this new Sansa - was absolutely right. They were like identical twins. The only real difference was their hair and clothes. Other than that, they were exact copies. 

"Anyway, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. My great aunt. But also just- Can I ask you about your book first?"

"You can ask me anything, Sansa," he spoke genuinely.

"Ok," she beamed. "Let me just start by saying that  _ We'll Meet Again  _ is simply… amazing. I mean, it's all so beautifully written and so rich with detail. I was so invested in James's journey and his love for Sara. And those letters… God, those letters broke my heart. I hung on every single word. And do you want to know the craziest thing?"

Jon gulped. "What's that?"

"Now this is gonna sound insane, I know it, but I just- I felt such a strong connection with Sara and just the story in general. It was all so familiar. Like all the little details you included, but especially those letters. It was like- Well, it was like I'd read them before. Like they were a part of me somehow? Like somewhere deep in my heart, I'd known those words. Written them. Memorized them. Cherished them. Does that- Does that make any sense at all?"

Jon nodded slowly, his mind reeling. It was really her. She was his Sansa. She just didn't quite know it yet. Somehow the universe had brought her back to him. His heart was going to explode.

"I bet you don't hear that one every day," she joked through her lashes.

"No," he half-chuckled, scratching at the back of his neck. "No, I uh, I definitely don't. I'm just curious, how did you hear about my book?"

"Oh, one of my friends rec'd it to me. I was a bit skeptical at first, you know how it is, but I quickly just fell in love and devoured it. I think I stayed up all night crying," she admitted with an adorable blush. "God, all the heartbreak and the sweetness. Just too much. And there was a real mystery to it as well. And I remember I had to keep pausing to try to puzzle it all out. Like how all of that was happening. And by the last page I was just so exhausted. What an emotional roller coaster, you know?"

"Yeah," Jon grinned, "you're telling me."

"Right?" Sansa giggled again. "Anyway, I don't know, I just became obsessed with it. It wouldn't leave me alone. I must have reread it five or six times in a row. I had to know why all this was so familiar. So I went online and started researching. I went through all the fandom communities and tried to find out everything I could about you and your book."

"Are you sure you're not a stalker," Jon teased, playfully narrowing his eyes at her.

"Oh my god, I swear! I know it's crazy…"

Jon waved his hand. "No, no, it's fine. Keep going."

"Ok, well, it was like the more I found out about you, the more questions I had. Now it wasn't just the story that was familiar, but you as well. It's like, you know how some things are just on the tip of your tongue, but for the life of you, you just can't think of it? That's what this was like."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I know exactly what you mean."

"It was like I would watch your interviews and just think, 'I know him. I know this man.' But that was impossible. I didn't grow up in Wintertown. My family lived in the Neck my whole life. There was no way I could have ever known you. But that feeling still remained. It just wouldn't go away. And then I found out your connection to the Starks."

"Oh my god," Jon mumbled, leaning forward, eager to hear more.

"I read that you'd purchased Stark Manor and pumped all this money into all of these foundations and scholarships my great aunt had started. And I wondered why in the world you would spend all of this money you'd just made on that? I mean, surely there were other things you'd rather spend your money on than helping people or restoring an old building, right? Like how could you be that altruistic?"

Jon blushed, feeling suddenly bashful. He had indeed poured thousands and thousands into Sansa's various foundations and scholarships she'd started. He figured supporting her life's work would be the least he could do. But he wanted to take it one step further. And once he had the money after signing over the film rights to  _ We'll Meet Again _ , he turned around and purchased the Stark Manor. Working in tandem with his mother and the Wintertown Historical Preservation Society, he'd been painstakingly restoring the house to its former glory. Jon was planning on turning it into a museum displaying not only the history of the Stark family, but also the history of Wintertown itself.

"It was all so very confusing, you see," Sansa said, rummaging around the bag she carried with her. "And then I was visiting my parents the other week, and I just so happened to notice this on the wall."

She pulled an old black and white photograph out and offered it to him.

"I just about died when I saw it, and I couldn't help but wonder how many times I had looked at this picture in the past and never realized…"

Jon reached out with a trembling hand to take the picture from her. It was worn and faded, but still clearly showed three men in army dress greens embracing each other and smiling at the camera. Two of the men Jon didn't recognize, but one of them he did. Because the man looked exactly like him.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered when he saw it, feeling that same sinking feeling he'd felt in his mother's kitchen three years ago. 

"That," Sansa said, pointing to the man in the middle, "is my great uncle Robb. This was taken right before the three of them shipped off to World War II. This guy on the right was a family friend. But this man," she pointed to the one that looked like Jon, "was a cousin of the Starks. Robb was the only one to come back alive. The other two died in battle."

"Holy shit," Jon breathed, his head shooting up to look into her eyes. It all made perfect sense. In one of her letters she had written of a cousin that had died in the war. She'd also mentioned that Jon had looked familiar to her. Had Sansa figured it all out back then? "Holy fucking shit."

"I know," she cooed, her eyes soft. "Your dedication at the beginning of the book was for my great aunt, wasn't it? It was for Sansa? You knew her, didn't you?"

"Yes," he nodded. This was it. His moment had finally come. "Yes, it was for her. Three years ago I bought her desk at an antique shop here in town. Inside it, I found an old love letter she'd written to know one. For some reason, I wrote her back. And to my surprise, the next week, I found another letter inside the desk addressed to me."

"Oh my god," her hand came up to cover her mouth, tears shining in her eyes. "So it was true? All of it?"

"Every word of it. Well, not all of it," Jon clenched his jaw. "I loved her. I still do. But unlike James, I never figured out a way to reach her. Our story ended with the final drawer, but I promised her I would give us a happy ending. So I did," he shrugged. "Pretty crazy, huh?"

Sansa gave him a watery smile. "I'll just add it to my current list of crazy shit."

Jon gave her a full belly laugh at that. "Listen, I know this is-"

"Sorry to interrupt, Jon," the manager of the bookstore cut in, having snuck up on them, "but we're looking to close up shop soon."

"Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry about that, Beth."

"It's no problem. We'll take care of all this," Beth gestured to the table and the mess. "Have a good night. Hope to see you again soon. Don't forget about us for your next book signing!"

"Absolutely," he smiled at Beth before turning back to Sansa. He was about to open his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"Jon, I- Shit, I'm trying so hard to be brave right now. I'm still so confused, and I still have a million questions. I'm not ready for this to end yet. Do you have plans tonight? Would you maybe want to go grab a bite to eat with me so we can continue this conversation?"

Sansa bit her lip, eyeing him nervously. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her worries away. But he had a feeling she might not be quite ready for that yet. That was fine with Jon. Now that they'd finally found each other, they had all the time in the world.

"I would love to, Sansa."

"Great!" She grinned, blushing like mad. "Have you ever been to Mickey's before? My grandpa used to talk about it all the time. Said they had the best lemon cake in the world. I love lemon cake."

"It's a date," he grinned back, having a sudden hankering for pancakes.

"Yeah… a date."

Jon stood from his seat and offered her his hand. "Come on, Mickey's isn't too far from here. We can walk."

Her blush deepening, she put her hand in his, and the two of them walked toward the door.

As they stepped out into the fresh evening air, Jon turned to her and said, "Sansa, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Oh my god, did you just quote  _ Casablanca _ ? That's my favorite movie!"

At that, Jon could only smile and squeeze her hand tighter. It hadn't been that long ago that fate and soulmates had just been words that meant nothing to him. But now, with Sansa walking beside him hand in hand, he believed in them. And all it took was a bit of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to each and every one of you who read this little passion project of mine! I had so much fun watching you all try to puzzle out what was happening. I appreciate all the kudos and bookmarks and comments!
> 
> If you're at all interested in reading the original short story I based this fic on, you can find it [HERE](http://web.archive.org/web/20090223182332/http://homepage.mac.com/cssfan/jackfinney/sep590801016.htm). It's only about 5k words, so it's a quick read. Honestly though, I think mine is better lmao.
> 
> For those of you reading my other works, anyone in the mood for an update of [Hey There, Mrs. Lovely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12952785/chapters/29608269) or [Of Film & Paper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925841/chapters/37129838) or [Can't We Be Sweethearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14054943/chapters/32375871)?
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️


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